


In the Eye of a Hurricane

by ephemeralstark



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt Peter, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Nightmares, Peter Parker Acts Like a Spider, Peter Parker Can't Thermoregulate, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Spider traits, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump, a new take on homecoming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 81,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21685402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralstark/pseuds/ephemeralstark
Summary: Tony Stark never brought Spider-Man to fight with him in Germany, he never met Peter Parker, he never designed a sleek new suit with a caring artificial intelligence, he never realised what it meant to be a father figure. Until he did.Tony meets a heavily injured teenager in a onesie on top of a roller coaster after said teenager crashed his plane, it's only right that he fixes him up and shows him how to do the whole 'hero thing' safely.
Comments: 205
Kudos: 1456
Collections: ellie marvel fics - read





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> so the chapters in this fic are gonna be quite long, the prologue is short but its just setting the scene y'know :D

Concrete and glass crunched under Tony's metal Iron Man boots as he walked around and took in the scene that was laid out before him. Bright yellow and orange flames seemed to crackle and glow from every direction, burning whatever they could sustain themselves on - everything appeared to be a giant mess, and yet not as big a mess as it could have been.

When Tony had received the call that his plane had been lost, he'd been furious.

Furious and terrified. 

That plane had contained some items that would be devastating in the hands of people with no morals. They could level the city or control the world if they knew what they were doing and there were countless people who would have been itching to have that sort of firepower in their back pocket. So yeah, Tony had been extremely concerned to hear that his plane had been hijacked.

His fury had been building and festering until he found himself in his Iron Man suit just flying around the city looking for suspicious weapons dealers. Until he had received a very apologetic call from Happy saying that they had found the plane, the only problem was that they had found it crashed into thousands upon thousands of pieces after having hit the ground in a maneuver that was most definitely not a safe landing procedure. 

Tony didn't care about losing the plane, he was a billionaire with a killer insurance policy, he just wanted to make sure that everything was accounted for - even if they were broken or damaged, that was still better than them being in the hands of the wrong people.

Debris lay scattered everywhere, it was hard to tell how much of it was his plane and how much was small buildings and stands that had been set up on the beach. It was strange, despite the plates of melting metal that were lying all over the place - he couldn't actually see any of the cargo that had been on the plane.

"Fuck!" Tony yelled in panic. "F.R.I.D.A.Y. connect to Happy. Now."

"Hey, Tony so-"

"No time," Tony said quickly, "how far out is the clean up team?"

"About ten minutes," Happy informed him.

"Right, right," Tony said as he took to the sky again, hoping desperately to see that  _ something _ had been left behind by the thief.

"Tony?" Happy's voice was uncertain, worried, "you alright?"

"I'll call you back," Tony muttered, his eyes catching sight of something bizarre stacked in the centre of the chaos, "F.R.I. end call."

"Tony don't-"

The connection was dropped and Tony made his way over to the strange structure. The suit retracted around him allowing him to step out onto the debris coated sand. Everything was there... in front of him, neatly stacked and tied together with a strange substance that Tony couldn't say he'd ever seen before. He hesitated for a split second before reaching out and touching it, it was sticky but also smooth and sleek - in a strange way it made him think of spider webbing.

Slowly he made his way around the mound of highly dangerous boxed items, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a man sitting there.

The man looked annoyed at his predicament, in fact Tony would even go as far as to say there was a hint of murderous rage showing on his face. 

His body was also being held in place by the same strange webs that were holding all of Tony’s precious belongings together. The man glanced to his side, drawing Tony's attention to a piece of paper that had been stuck to a container by the man’s head, a message scrawled on it in childish handwriting.

FOUND

FLYING VULTURE GUY

\- SPIDER-MAN

P.S. SORRY ABOUT 

YOUR PLANE

"Spider-Man?" Tony mumbled to himself in confusion as he reached out and plucked the note off the box. It had been attached with the same sticky material and ripped slightly with the force of removing it. 

"Annoying kid," the man muttered, Tony wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or not, "with any luck he'll crawl somewhere to tend to his wounds and he won't come back out."

"Kid?" Tony asked.

He shouldn't have expected any further explanation because the man who was tied up just snorted and laid his head back against the boxes as though he was taking a leisurely nap while the distant sound of sirens filtered through the burning crackles of the tragedy around them. His lips were sealed tightly as though to show that he wasn't willing to say anything more. 

"Kid," Tony repeated, whispering the word to himself and glancing around the burning mess in panic. "F.R.I.D.A.Y. scan the nearby area, I want to know if there's anyone else here."

"Yes, Sir," F.R.I.D.A.Y. responded and Tony watched the Iron Man suit power up and hover in the air as it took in the surrounding area.

While she scanned Tony couldn't stop himself from looking everywhere he could, his imagination kept playing tricks on him and he could  _ see it.  _ He could see a child lying half under a sheet of metal with a soot covered face, everywhere he looked the child got younger and younger and more injured looking. The kid was in his head, bleeding and suffering and there was nothing Tony could do to- 

"One further life form detected." F.R.I.D.A.Y. spoke up.

While Tony was grateful for her interruption, he wasn't sure he wanted to see the state of the child that had taken down a plane and fought a 'flying vulture guy' but if the kid needed help then Tony owed it to him to make sure he was alright, and if he was hurt then there was no way he could be left behind.

"Great," Tony said as the suit returned to the ground only long enough for Tony to return to his space inside it.

His mask covered his face smoothly and a small red dot appeared in his vision, the kid was... on top of a rollercoaster?

"Is this accurate?"

"Yes, Sir."

"How the hell did he get up there?" Tony asked himself.

"My best guess would be that he climbed." F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied uselessly.

"Yeah, rhetorical question, F.R.I."

Tony wasted no further time shooting into the air and soaring towards the top of the Cyclone roller coaster. He was there. Actually there this time, not a sick image conjured up by Tony’s mind to make him suffer. 

"Kid?" Tony murmured gently, the kid was leaning against one of the flag poles, eyes closed. 

He was so still that if it wasn't for the slight rise and fall of his chest, he would have looked dead and he was  _ young _ . Younger than Tony had imagined and far too young looking to have crashed a  _ plane.  _ Bruises blossomed and shone out again blood stained skin, his suit was haphazardly created and torn in so many places that it barely functioned as a suit. Although Tony was happy to give the kid the benefit of the doubt and assume that the tears came from the fight, not the poor craftsmanship of the suit. 

"Kid?" Tony asked a little louder.

"Gah!" The kid's eyes flew open and he lurched back in fear, Tony's heart jumped into his throat as the kid fell backwards off the platform.

Immediately he jumped into action, only to see the kid clinging onto the side with one hand.

"Sorry," the kid said, the apology sounding more like a pained grunt rather than a word.

"Sorry?" Tony asked as he helped the kid back up onto the platform, "what on Earth are you apologising for?"

"I- I-" the kid seemed to pale a drastic amount and Tony had to lurch forward to catch him as he passed out.


	2. vulture-y flying guy?

"This is stupid, what am I doing?"

Peter felt like an idiot. He was stripping out of his clothes on a rooftop outside and staring down at a party through a large window, like, who even did that? Was it really worth it? Was proving that Peter Parker knew Spider-Man worth the lack of self respect he would have for himself by walking into that room?

He couldn't deny that a strong part of him was desperate to see Flash's jaw drop and watch the hero worship creep over his expression as his favourite hero sauntered into the room. Peter could see it in his mind, he could see the way he would greet everyone, and how he'd pull Ned into a really cool 'bro-hug' while asking where Peter had gotten to.

It would have been perfect, it still could be, all Peter had to do was actually go inside. But he couldn't do it, he stood there in his red and blue hoodie and stared down through the window at Ned anxiously checking his phone for messages, and he knew that he was going to let his best friend down once more.

"Sorry buddy," Peter murmured as he bent down to grab his clothes.

Just as he was about to turn and jump off the other side of the roof, his attention was caught by a bright blue explosion of light, so bright that it almost appeared white.

"What the hell?" he mumbled to himself as he watched the light darken and slowly dissipate into nothing.

He should have changed back into his own clothes and packed away his web shooters, he should have gone back into the party and plastered on a smile for everyone while trying to convince Ned that they should leave before Flash realised that Spider-Man wasn't going to turn up.

Yeah, he should have but there was no way he could go back inside without investigating where the hell that light had come from. He shot a web out at a nearby tree and made his way away from his best friend and the house that was filled with people who would never let him or Ned live down the fact that Spider-Man had failed to show up as promised. He yanked his mask into place just incase someone looked out the window and saw him flying by. 

His smooth sailing was however interrupted when he ran out of buildings and trees to swing from, he stumbled a little and shot a web into the dark of night, watching it soar uselessly through the air, connecting with nothing. He was standing on the edge of a small golf course, an area that had been cleared of anything that could have been used to speed up his journey. 

With a sigh he accepted what he needed to do, and started to sprint through the grass. It was just his luck that the sprinklers were scheduled to turn on while he was running through the damn course. The moisture weighed down his suit and made the journey slower and more difficult, he really would have to look at redesigning his suit in the future, the fabric that the hoodie was made from wasn't light or comfortable when wet… and he’d made the whole suit from the same material, even the mask. 

“This sucks!” He complained loudly while panting with the run. 

On the bright side there was another flash of blue light, this time it was closer and his enhanced hearing picked up male voices cheering and celebrating the explosion. So he pushed himself further, running as fast as he could possibly run. Eventually he made it to a bridge which he threw himself at, sticking to the side of it and crawling forward so he could see what was going on. 

“I got tons of great stuff here, one sec.” One of the men said. “Ok, I got uh, black hole grenades, Chitauri railguns…” 

“You letting off shots in public now?” Another man spoke up. “Hurry up. Look, times are changing, we’re the only ones selling these high-tech weapons.”

“Oh,” Peter said softly to himself, “this must be where the ATM robbers got their stuff.”

“Look, I just need something to stick somebody up,” another man said, the buyer, Peter deduced. “I’m not trying to shoot them back in time.”

“I got anti grav’ climbers.” The guy in the back of the van continued, listing off everything he could think of in the hopes of making a sale. 

There was a concerning list of potential problem weapons. Peter really didn't want to see any of them hitting markets in the near future. People wouldn't even realise how much damage they could do with the advanced alien technology. 

That was when a loud yodelling suddenly decided to fill the air. Peter panicked instantly, trying to dig his phone out of his hoodie pocket, but struggling and allowing the yodelling to continue piercing the silence that had fallen. 

“Ok, what the hell was that?” 

It was Ned. Of course it was Ned, Peter had essentially just stood him up like the terrible friend he was, it wasn’t weird for Ned to want an explanation for his behaviour. Peter rejected the call as the men freaked out and started to aim weapons at the buyer. 

“You set us up?” They demanded to know. 

Peter needed to act quickly. He let go of the bridge, letting his body fall towards the ground, he flipped around to land on his feet rather than his head at the last moment. It wasn't as smooth a movement as he had intended it to be, he staggered a little, almost losing his balance. 

“Hey! Come on!” He shouted quickly in a panic. “You gonna shoot at somebody, shoot at me!”

“A’ight.” One of the armed men muttered, turning to aim his gun at Peter. 

He was quick but Peter was quicker, he shot out a web on instinct and it latched onto the muzzle, allowing Peter to pull the gun from the man’s hands. The man hadn’t expected the movement and he had no hope of holding onto the weapon, it fell to the ground uselessly.

Taking advantage of the man’s confusion Peter sprinted forward, ready to launch his shoulder into the man and hopefully wind him, except instead he was punched in the face by a giant taser-y looking metal arm. The force of the hit sent Peter careering backwards and he landed harshly on the ground with a grunt. 

“Ouch.” He muttered as he lay on the ground.

He would have liked a few moments to catch his breath, but the sound of an engine starting up caught his attention, and the men laughed at him lying on the ground as they made a break for it. 

“What was that?” Peter asked as he shook off the shock of being thrown through the air and shot a web at the escaping van, he didn't have time to get back on his feet and so was pulled along on his front. The ground tore through his suit like a hot blade cutting through butter, leaving him exposed to the harsh tarmac as the van pulled onto a road. 

“Ow, ouch, this was a terrible idea,” Peter murmured to himself as the van jetted around corners at a high speed in the hopes of shaking him loose. 

Peter could hear the men talking to each other in the van, but the panic of being dragged along the road was stopping him from focusing on what they were saying to each other. His trepidation was intensified when a blast of pink light shot out the back of the van towards him, it took off one of the back doors as it did so, giving him something else to dodge in addition to the actual light itself. He didn't  _ want  _ to know what it would do if it hit him.

They fired again, Peter narrowly managed to avoid being hit, losing grip on one of his webs meaning that he needed to shoot another one in order to stop himself from being dislodged. He ended up being dragged along on his bottom. 

“Oh, my butt!” he screamed as another blast was fired towards him, it hit the ground just ahead of where he was causing pieces of tarmac to fly through the air and Peter was very certain that he didn't want to be directly hit with that thing. 

Luckily, the van turned again and even though Peter found himself being battered all over by the ground once more, the man in the van with the gun lost his balance and grip on the weapon so it ended up flying past Peter. 

The driver didn't seem to care about losing the weapon, he only wanted to get rid of Peter, so he swerved all over the road, slamming Peter into curbs and cars. If there was an obstruction then Peter found himself being rammed into it, despite everything he really had to admire the driver’s skills. 

After being dragged through a row of trash bins Peter was forced to release his grip on his webs by a large brick postbox. He choked on the dust that surrounded him for a brief moment but he couldn't stop for long, forcing himself through the pain he jumped back to his feet and half ran, half limped his way after the van. He shot another web but only succeeded in pulling the remaining back door off. 

“Great!” He yelled after them, looking every bit like a teenager in a onesie throwing a tantrum. “Guess, I’m gonna have to take a shortcut.”

His shortcut ended up being fairly painful and tiring to negotiate. He jumped fences, ran through fences, interrupted families, destroyed a treehouse, traumatised a couple of kids, and had a very brief game of fetch with a very happy looking dog. 

Finally he sprinted across a roof, panting heavily as he spotted the van skidding around another corner, the exhaust pipe trailing on the ground, letting out a stream of sparks. 

“Thought you got away from me didn’t ya?” He panted out, “I got you… right where… I want you… surprise!”

He launched himself through the air, this was it, he was going to get them this time. 

And then claws wrapped around his arms and shoulders digging in painfully, Peter was sure they were breaking through his skin. He was going to have so much suit maintenance to do when he got home. 

The claws let go for a second, causing him to flip in the air, only to be recaptured by the ankle. He couldn't stop himself from letting out a terrified scream as he was flown up higher and higher into the sky where the air started to grow cold around him. 

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” Peter muttered continuously under his breath as he looked at the twinkling street lights growing smaller. “What the hell?”

Peter tried his best to reach up and peel the claws off his ankle, the flying guy looked down at him, piercing green eyes seemed to stare through Peter’s soul and into his nightmares. It was like he was being carried away by a vulture. 

They were flying above water which was slightly reassuring, but in the nighttime it looked less like a safe place to land and more like a black hole ready to suck him in and remove him from the world. Was that the flying guy’s intention? To remove Spider-Man from the world. 

Peter realised that the vulture-flying-guy wasn't letting him go anytime soon and he needed to act before he was too high to survive a fall. The black void was a better alternative than crashing into a building or car or concrete. Once again Peter reached up and desperately tried to pry his ankle free, it wasn't easy, his fingers kept slipping as the metal was damp with his blood. Eventually, he managed to hook a few fingers under one of the claws and he pulled with all his strength.

It worked, he managed to shimmy his ankle from the crushing grip, he was free! 

“Oh god!” Peter screamed as he started to free fall towards the lake.

He was dead, he was totally dead. 

He was going to be found washed up in the morning after having drowned in a pair of red and blue pyjamas with goggles on his face, would people even connect him with Spider-Man? Would they realise that he was the hero? Or would they think he was a stupid, dorky kid who was playing dress up and got himself into more trouble than he could handle? 

No, he wouldn't let that happen. He wasn't just a kid, he was Spider-Man and he would go home to his aunt. 

He did his best to turn in the air, so his feet were pointing down towards the water. 

“Please, please, please,” Peter whispered before taking in a deep breath and holding it, just in time as his feet broke through the surface of the water. 

The coldness enveloped him from every direction, smothering and suffocating him with it's harsh icyness. He couldn't tell which way was up and which way was down, everything was black, there was no way for him to tell where to go. He was scared, he was  _ terrified _ . 

Peter swam upwards in desperation, or at least in a direction that he was hoping was up. He was going to drown, he was going to die alone in the water and there wasn't anything he could do except hope and pray that he was at least trying to swim in the right direction. 

_ Please,  _ he pleaded mentally,  _ let me out.  _

His lungs felt like they were about to explode with the need to breathe, he wasn't sure how much longer he would be able to hold out, all the air inside him ballooned out in giant, precious bubbles, thankfully floating in the same direction as his weak strokes. 

Just as he was sure that he couldn't go on any further his head broke the surface and cold air stabbed at his wet face. He greedily sucked in air, coughing and spluttering as he accidentally took in a little water with it. 

Heart racing, Peter treaded water and breathed deeply, basking in the fact that he was alive. 

He didn't have long to feel relieved however, there was a very questionable flying character in his neighbourhood and he had to stop him. 

“Flying vulture guy?” he called out, scanning the sky for the terrifying green eyes as he paddled back to solid ground. “That’s right Peter, just call out for the guy who tried to kill you while still in the water.”

Peter pulled trudged out of the water and over to a kids play park where he started to wring out his suit, he really needed to make a better one, the material was far too heavy when soaked. 

He started at the haphazardly made mask in his hands, staring into the goggle eyes that were goofy looking and yet so good at honing his senses. 

It was strange how alone almost dying could make a person feel. 

Peter wasn't alone, not really; he had his aunt who would go to the end of the universe for him, and Ned who was the best friend Peter could ask for, he trusted him with everything he was. He even had Michelle who was slowly becoming a part of their group even though she would deny it until her dying breath. Hell, he had the decathlon team, well, not Flash. 

He was surrounded by people, but when he was out in his Spider-Man suit he had no one. Ned knew about his nightly activities, of course, but Ned wasn’t back up. Peter was truly out there flying by the seat of his pants and maybe one day he would get himself hurt in a way that would stop him from limping home with his tail between his legs, maybe one day something would happen and he wouldn't be able to go home to May. 

Was it selfish of him to risk her losing her last remaining family member? 

Perhaps, but then, was it not his fault that she’d lost her husband? He could have done something to prevent Ben from being killed, he  _ should  _ have done something. 

Thankfully, he was pulled from his spiralling thoughts when he caught sight of something purple glowing in the grass. He limped over to it, a strange humming sound filling the air as he got closer, whatever the thing was, it wasn’t like any technology Peter had ever seen before. 

A loud yodelling filled the air once more, making Peter almost jump and jab the purple glowy thing by accident, it hummed louder for a brief time. 

“How the…” he trailed off as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at the lit up screen in confusion. How had it survived? 

“Hey man, what’s up? I’m on my way back.” Peter said. 

“Actually, I was calling to say maybe you shouldn't come, listen to this.” Peter listened as Flash riled everyone at the party up so they were collectively insulting him. “Sorry, Peter, I guess we’re still losers. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow in school,” Peter mumbled hanging his head. 

Peter gently lifted the purple glowy thing from the ground. He hoped it would help him track down the people who were selling those ridiculous weapons, otherwise he would be at a dead end and he’d have let Ned down and almost died for no good reason. 

The vulture-y guy had to be the one selling the weapons, he was far too kitted out not to have some serious money and firepower behind him. Which meant that Peter needed to find him, and to do so he was going to need Ned’s help. 

That could wait until school, in the meantime Peter needed to finish limping home in the cold, clean his wounds, and stitch up all the rips in his suit. One thing was for sure, being Spider-Man had shown him that he was hopeless at sewing, hopefully his repairs would last long enough for him to source new materials for a more sturdy suit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me on tumblr @[ephemeralstark](https://ephemeralstark.tumblr.com/) :D 
> 
> hope you enjoyed!!!


	3. glowy thing and glowy two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is a fair bit longer than the last, so make yourself a cup of tea and grab a snack <3 i hope you enjoy
> 
> tags updated

Peter shivered slightly as he laid the weird purple glowy thing on the table in front of him and Ned, they had very specifically chosen a table as far back as they could get in the classroom and stood with their backs to everyone to hide what they were doing… not that anyone would have cared what they were up to, they were losers. 

“This is so cool man,” Ned muttered as he jabbed at it with a finger, it pulsed and seemed to hum angrily at the poke. 

“Careful,” Peter murmured through chattering teeth, “we don’t actually know what it is or what it might do.” 

“You alright?” Ned asked, ignoring Peter’s warnings as he moved some of the cables attached to the glowy thing around with a screwdriver. 

“Just cold, it’s nothing.” 

At least, he hoped it was nothing. Ever since his unwilling bath in the lake last night he just couldn't seem to get warm. When he got home, it had been late and he’d spent a while tending to his wounds before jumping in a hot shower, but the shower hadn't helped him much. All night he had struggled to sleep, wrapped up in all the spare blankets they had in the apartment, but his eyes were wide open as his shivered a concerning amount. 

“Alright, if you say so,” Ned said, pulling Peter out of his thoughts, “thanks for bailing on me by the way.”

Peter picked up a hammer and ignoring his own earlier warning began to whack the glowy thing, “yeah well,” Peter murmured as it sparked light out angrily, “something came up.”

“Yeah, speaking of which, what  _ is  _ that?” 

“I don't know,” Peter admitted as he started to remove parts of the device that had been connected to the glowy orb thing, “but some guy tried to vaporise me with it.”

“Seriously?” Ned asked a little louder than Peter was comfortable with. 

“Yeah.”

“Awesome!” Ned cheered, Peter paused his ministrations to turn and raise a brow at his deluded best friend. Ned caught the look and instantly started to back track. “I mean, not awesome. Totally not cool of that guy, so scary.”

“You're overdoing it,” Peter murmured. 

“Yeah, yeah, I guess I am, overdoing it that is.” Ned agreed. 

“Well,” Peter said, turning his attention back to the strange device on the table, “I think it’s a power source.”

“Yeah, but it’s connected to all these microprocessors,” Ned said, pointing into the device, “that’s an inductive charging plate, that’s what I use to charge my toothbrush.”

“Whoever’s making these weapons is obviously combining alien tech with ours.” Peter realised. 

“That is literally the coolest sentence anyone has ever said.” Ned said certainly. “I just want to thank you for letting me be a part of your journey into this amazing-”

He was abruptly cut off by a loud whirring noise and a flash of light as Peter successfully whacked the purple glowy thing out of it's metal cage. They quickly turned their backs to the glowy thing, shielding it with their bodies as they checked that no one had seen the flash, although how they could have missed it was beyond Peter. 

“Keep your fingers clear of the blades.” Mr. Hapgood called out without glancing up from his puzzle book.

Peter was more than a little disappointed in his teacher and classmates, they would be useless in an actual emergency, but that was a grievance for another day. They turned back to the glowy thing. 

“I gotta figure out what this is and who makes it.” Peter said quietly as they stared at the strange purple orb that was coated in rings of gold, It looked like a small orb of purple lightning. 

“We’ll go to the lab after class and run some tests.” Ned said.

“Let’s do it.” Peter agreed holding out his hand to Ned for their secret handshake. 

Their day continued as any other day would have, Peter tried his best to focus on classes, while also trying to figure out what the glowy thing was and why he couldn't stop shivering. 

He got an answer for one of his queries at least, or rather Ned seemed to have a fairly plausible explanation. 

Peter was a few bites into his overly greasy and not too appetising lunch when a book was slammed down in front of him. It wafted a blast of cold air towards him causing his shivering to briefly intensify. 

“What are you doing?” Peter asked as Ned gestured frantically to the book.

Peter glanced at the open page and physically recoiled when he was met by an image of a spider posed to attack. 

“Ned, what the hell man?” He whined. “You know I don't like spiders.”

“Yeah, and that’s the most ironic thing in this world, but it’s not the spider I want you to look at it’s the text.” Ned said, poking a finger at one paragraph in particular. 

“Spiders and thermoregulation?” Peter read out. 

“Yeah, so spiders can't actually thermoregulate. They can't use shivering to warm up or panting to cool down, and they can’t use stored energy to provide their body with heat.” Ned explained. 

“But I’ve been shivering all morning.” Peter counteracted, seeing where Ned was going with his point. 

“And it’s been doing nothing for you,” Ned argued, “you can’t stop but you’re still cold.”

“But I took a hot shower last night, wouldn't that have counteracted the effects of the cold water?” 

“How long were you in the shower?” Ned asked. 

“I don't know?” Peter said with a shrug. “A few minutes maybe, I didn't time it.”

“And did you feel warm after?” Ned questioned. 

“Not really.” 

“You probably didn't even raise your core temperature,” Ned explained, “your body is trying to shiver and use human coping mechanisms to warm you up but it’s ignoring your spider DNA and you’re still cold.”

“Huh,” Peter mumbled to himself, “that would actually make sense.”

“See, I’m not just a pretty face.” Ned said with a smirk. 

“You’re barely that. What are you losers talking about?” MJ asked as she placed a tray down on the table beside them, she glanced at the book and raised an eyebrow. “Spiders? Cool. thought you lame asses would be scared of them or something.”

“Scared? No way.” Peter squawked. 

The book was subtly removed from the table by Ned as they dissolved into laughter. 

By the end of the day Peter was wearing his jacket  _ and  _ Ned’s jacket as he tried to keep the shivering at bay, thankfully it seemed to be working and the tip of his nose no longer felt like it was chilling in the arctic. 

“First, I say we put the glowy thing in the mass spectrometer.” Ned said quietly as they made their way down the mostly empty school corridor. 

“No, first, we’ve got to come up with a better name than ‘glowy thing’.” Peter said. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Ned agreed. 

Peter barely heard him agree as his Spidey Sense tingled and he felt a strong urge to hide just as two very familiar looking men walked around the corridor towards them. Thankfully they weren’t looking up and were too busy talking amongst themselves to see the two boys. 

“Crap!” Peter whispered and in one large jump he cleared the width of the corridor and hid around the corner. Ned was a little slow on the uptake of the urgency of the situation. “Come on, come on, come on.”

With a lot less energy Ned slowly strolled over to Peter while the latter peered around the corner at the two men. They were holding a strange crackling device. 

“High schools creep me out,” One of the men muttered,“they’ve got this funny smell, you know what I mean?” 

“Hey,” Peter whispered to Ned, “that’s one of the guys that tried to kill me.”

“What?” Ned whisper-shouted back, looking extremely concerned. 

“Yeah,” Peter said slowly wondering if he should be worried that he didn’t feel as scared as Ned did at that sentence.

“We gotta get out of here.” Ned said quickly. 

“No, no, no,” Peter mumbled, “I gotta follow them, maybe they can lead me to the guy who dropped me in the lake.”

“Someone dropped you in a lake?” Ned asked, “wait is that why you were cold last night? Peter!” 

“Yeah it was not good.” Peter mumbled returning his attention back to the men, he needed to follow them, he couldn't lose them again. 

“Peter-”

“No, Ned, stay there.” Peter interrupted shrugging off Ned’s attempts to stop him from moving after the men. 

He ignored his best friend’s scared attempts to stop him from following the two men, and carefully trailed them, ducking behind pillars and trash cans so he could remain hidden. 

They seemed to be aiming for the workshop Peter and Ned had been in that morning when investigating the glowy thing. Carefully, Peter followed them down. 

“Man, can you imagine what the boss would say if he knew where we were?” One of the men asked as Peter ducked down behind a table, hoping they didn't turn around as he wasn't well hidden. 

“It’s saying there was an energy pulse right here,” the other man muttered as he glanced at the whirring, clicking machine in his hands. 

“There’s no sign of the weapon,” the other guy muttered, “and even if it was here, now it’s gone.”

“So are we.” 

Shit.

Peter quickly hid his backpack under the staircase and hoped they wouldn't notice it, or if they did, they thought it was just left behind by some kid and not worth their time, he couldn't ask May for  _ another  _ one. 

Quickly, but quietly, he stuck to the underneath of a desk. Surely they wouldn't think to look for him under there. His heart pounded in his chest, so loud that he was afraid it had given him away. 

The familiar sound of the safety on a gun clicking off seemed to fill the room and he listened to the footsteps of the men moving closer. He was done for, why had he decided to hang upside down under a table? He couldn't even play the ‘dumb kid who’d left something behind’ card because he was quite obviously no just any kid if he could stick to the underside of a damn piece of furniture. 

Holding his breath to remain as quiet as possible, he slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. With one last glance at the cracked screen and a mental apology to May he reached out and slid it into one of the men’s pockets while their attention was elsewhere. It had been such a durable little phone, he already missed it, but this was important. 

Peter listened to the fading steps of the two men and waited until his Spidey Sense had dulled down to faint hum in the back of his mind before he allowed himself to drop back to the floor. 

Ned was still standing where Peter had left - abandoned - him, a wave of relief flooding over his face when he saw Peter returning. 

“Dude, what the hell, I was panicking over here,” Ned whisper yelled at him, “did you really just follow the guys who tried to kill you? Like really? Is that something that seems like a normal thing to do to you?”

“I dunno, it happens sometimes,” Peter said with a slight shrug before shaking his head to dispel those thoughts, “anyways, Ned! We need to get back to mine, I planted my phone on them and we have to track it.”

“You just planted your phone?” Ned asked. “Like that? Won’t May be pissed?” 

“Uh, maybe, but I had to do it.” Peter said. “We need to know where they’re going, the flying vulture guy wasn't one of them, but I’m almost positive they work for him. Which means that if I can track their whereabouts, I can probably find the flying vulture.”

“Alright,” Ned muttered as they left the school and began their walk home, “But say you find this guy, what’s your plan?” 

“I need to take him down.” Peter said as though it was obvious. 

“Yeah, yeah, that sounds about right,” Ned frowned, “but, Peter, how?”

“I don’t know,” Peter admitted, “I hadn’t really thought it through that much. I was just going to wing it.”

“Of course you were.” Ned said rolling his eyes. “Listen, I think tracking these guys is a good idea, but engaging with them again may be jumping the gun a little.”

“Fair point,” Peter said, “we need to find out who their supplier is.” 

“Supplier? Aren’t they the suppliers?” Ned asked. 

“Well, the suppliers of the weapons sure,” Peter said, “but I don’t know where they’re getting the tech to create the weapons from.”

“Oh,” Ned mumbled. 

They walked quickly, eager to see where Peter’s phone was, but Peter just hoped that they hadn't realised that it had been planted on them. What if they ditched it before setting off? Or perhaps they would go home and change before heading back to the big boss and they wouldn't take their jackets. He just couldn't stop running through potential ways in which his plan could be messed up. 

“May?” Peter called out as he unlocked the door to the apartment. 

Silence. 

“May? You home?” 

“I think we’re good,” Ned said. 

“Yeah, come on, let’s see what these guys are up to.” 

It took Ned a while to get everything set up on Peter’s home made computer. In that time, Peter lounged on his front, stitching his suit back together messily. 

“I seriously think the youth of America are missing out, we need sewing classes.” Peter grumbled as the fabric began to ruffle with the tightness of his stitches. 

“Would you have said that before becoming Spider-Man?” Ned asked, looking over the top of the computer at Peter. 

“No, but who knows? Maybe trigonometry will actually come in useful someday.” Peter said with a shrug. 

“Did you know there’s a giant patch of blood on your suit?” Ned asked, ignoring his sentence. 

“Yeah,” Peter peered at the dark patch on one of the ankles, “he was carrying me by the ankle for a while. Those talons hurt, and for some reason I just can't get this bit of blood out. I tried soaking it and everything.”

“Wait,” Ned muttered, “‘this bit’? There was more?” 

“Uh, yeah, that doesn't matter though,” Peter said, “I’m all healed, the only thing that’s left is some pretty awesome looking scars.”

“I worry about you sometimes,” Ned said, before Peter could reply he let out a loud gasp, “I’ve got it!”

Peter abandoned his sewing project and jumped off the bed to peer over Ned’s shoulder. 

“Brooklyn.” He said looking at the little blip on the map. 

“Still moving though, we’ll have to keep an eye on them to see where they wind up.” 

Somehow Peter ended up mending his suit while dangling upside down on the ceiling, while Ned started to work on his homework. 

“Staten Island.” Ned muttered glancing at the screen halfway through a maths problem. 

“Really?” Peter muttered, stabbing himself in the thumb with the needle in his distraction. “Why can’t they just find a place close by?” 

The sun had long since vanished below the horizon by the time Peter’s phone came to a standstill on the map.

“Ned, wake up!” Peter said, shooting one of his webs at his best friend’s knee to jerk him awake. 

“Hey! What?” 

“They’ve stopped, they’re in Maryland.” Ned said. “What’s there?” 

“I don’t know,” Peter mumbled with a shrug, “evil lair?”

“They have a lair?” Ned asked, looking far too excited at the prospect.

“Dude, a gang with alien guns run by a guy with wings? Yeah, they have a lair.” Peter said as though that should have been obvious. 

“Badass.” Ned said with a tired grin. “But how are you gonna get there? Maryland is, like, three hundred miles away.”

“Well,” Peter said, glancing at the academic decathlon poster that was standing in his room. “It’s not too far from D.C.”

Only a few days later, Peter and Ned found themselves sitting on a school bus that was heading towards Washington D.C. for the decathlon, and more importantly, bringing them nearer to Maryland. 

“Focus up everyone, our next topic is the moons of Saturn.” Liz said, trying to keep everyone’s attention.

The questions flew by at an impressive rate, and Peter and Ned rang their bells every once in a while to give the illusion that they were paying attention, when in actual fact they were keeping a close eye on Peter’s phone on Ned’s laptop.

Peter was thanking every lucky star and every God in existence that the flying vulture guy’s lackeys apparently never checked their pockets, it was also impressive how long his phone battery could last when he wasn't playing dumb games on it. 

The second they arrived at the hotel in D.C., Peter and Ned locked themselves away in their room and began to plan a route for Peter to head to Maryland, and give him an opportunity to change into his patched up Spider-Man suit. 

“Hey,” Ned muttered suddenly, “they’re moving.”

“What? No, no, no,” Peter mumbled, his changing forgotten as he leapt onto the bed to stare at the screen, “no, no, no. I can't leap around with your laptop! This is a disaster, why now?” 

“Maybe I can connect the tracking system to my phone and you could take that instead?” Ned offered. “It’s better than running around blindly, just, don't lose it. Please, my mom will actually kill me.”

“Thanks, dude,” Peter mumbled. 

“Don’t mention it,” Ned said, “and hurry up and change. I heard Liz talking about bonding activities before tomorrow and you should probably make your escape before you get roped into that.”

“But-” Peter hesitated. 

“No, man, your crush on Liz is going to have to wait for another day,” Ned said, “this is important. Or at least, you seemed to think so the other day.”

“Yeah, you're right,” he conceded, “the glowy thing is evidence, keep it safe, alright?” 

“Yeah, sure.”

Peter made a quick escape through a fire escape and under the cover of his hoodie and a darkened alleyway he crawled up the side of the building until he reached the roof. The sun was just beginning to set, Peter was sure that Liz would be knocking on his and Ned’s door very soon to invite them to join whatever bonding activity she had decided on, sometimes he felt frustrated that his duties got in the way of his life. 

“Sorry Liz,” he whispered, feeling the familiar pang of loneliness as he pulled his mask on. 

It was just him and his haphazard suit, he couldn't even call Ned for advice or company because he was holding his friend’s phone in his hand in order to trace down the bad guys. 

“It's a lonely life being a superhero,” Peter said to himself as he shot a web out and swung off the roof. 

He wondered if the bigger heros ever felt as small as he did. Probably not, they generally had other heroes who had their back. Peter however was very much alone. 

He swung through the buildings in the unfamiliar city, following the little blip on Ned’s phone that would lead him in the direction of the flying vulture guy. He took a few wrong turns and skimmed a few buildings as he misjudged the distance between them and his feet. 

The sky gradually darkened as Peter rode on top of a truck out towards the bad guys’ location. As the lights from the city faded out and the stars grew brighter, Peter wished he could call Ned or May and chat to them as he moved further away from everyone he knew. He didn't have too much time to wallow in his loneliness as the small blip was fast approaching. 

He leapt off the truck, hitting the ground wrong and face planting so he got a mouth full of grass. 

“Ew, gross,” he whispered as he spat the green strands out. When he looked up he was surprised at what lay in front of him. “A gas station? That’s so lame.”

He hid behind the gas station sign for a few minutes as he tried to figure out what was going on, he could hear three muffled voices but they appeared to be inside a van and he wasn’t close enough for his enhanced hearing to pick up what they were saying. 

“I need to get closer,” he whispered to himself as he weaved around the outside of the gas station. 

With a great deal of care, he crept up behind the van, taking advantage of the darkness to stick to the back of it and crawl up onto the top. His movements were slow and cautious but eventually he made it and focused his hearing on what they were saying. 

“I got the gauntlet from the Lagos clean up, the rest is my design,” a familiar voice said. It was one of the men that had broken into Peter’s school. 

“Can’t believe they’re still cleaning up the Triskelion mess.” Someone said. 

“I love it, they keep making messes, we keep getting rich.” 

Peter could recognise the two men from his school, but the third voice was unfamiliar. Was it the boss? The flying vulture guy? And who kept making messes? Who was the ‘they’? 

“Target inbound.” 

Target? Was this a heist? 

If it was then he needed to move as he was going to be spotted instantly crouched on top of the van. With one quick web and a brief swing through the air, Peter was on top of the roof of the gas station, and he had a perfect view of the three large vans that were driving one after the other. They were all exactly the same and the distance between them appeared to be consistent down to the centimetre. It was slightly creepy. 

That was when Peter heard a strange noise coming from above. He looked up to see the flying vulture guy swooping down towards the trucks. 

“Oh, that’s him!” Peter said excitedly, this was it, this was his chance for a rematch. He could finally prove himself, he wasn't sure who he was trying to prove himself to, it wasn't like anyone other than Ned knew what was going on. 

“Alright,” the flying vulture guy’s voice filtered into the van, “I got eyes on the convoy, pulling in behind the caboose.” 

“Deploy anchors.” A man in the van said. 

Peter watched as the vulture’s wings stretched out hooks to connect to the top of one of the trucks. Tiny blue orbs were released over the top of the truck and they were making faint beeping sounds, that was until they all seemed to connect to one another and create an uneven rectangle of purple light on top of the truck. 

“Dropping down.” The Vulture informed them.

Peter blinked. Had the Vulture just… dropped through a roof? That was impossible, or at the least improbable, so how had he done it? What were the beeping orbs? How much alien tech did they actually have hidden away? 

“No outgoing distress signals.” One of the men in the van informed the Vulture. “You’re all clear.”

“Hey, looks like they’ve got some good stuff in here,” the Vulture’s voice said through the comms. 

Peter couldn't let him get away this time, nor could he allow the vulture to escape with so much new technology that he could use to make weapons. He made up his mind in a moment and fling himself off the building to follow the truck that the Vulture was robbing. 

He landed on top silently, hoping that no one from the van would snitch on him. He didn't particularly fancy losing the element of surprise. 

“Woah, cool, it’s like some kind of matter phase shifter.” He murmured as he looked at the shimmering purple light that seemed to warp the top of the van and allow him to see the Vulture inside cracking open metal cages full of technology that didn't look human. This must be how they were getting their stuff. They didn't have a supplier, or rather they didn't have a willing supplier.

“Alright, coming up,” the Vulture said clearly, and Peter took that as his cue to crawl back and grip onto the rear of the van - out of sight.

As soon as the Vulture jumped up, so did Peter, he shot a web at the duffel bag that the Vulture had filled and yanked it back into his grip. 

“Hey, Big Bird! This doesn't belong to you!” Peter shouted at him, tightening his hold on the bag. The Vulture turned those terrifying green laser eyes onto him. “Oh, God.”

The vulture soared into the sky, with his razor sharp metal wings, and shot towards Peter, who jumped at the last moment and somehow managed to successfully flip himself over the top of the Vulture’s terrifying wings. 

The fight was disorientating, between the whirring of the Vulture’s wings and the fact that they were fighting on top of a moving truck, Peter could barely tell what was up and what was down. He was dodging blows from the Vulture’s wings from every direction and every web he shot in retaliation seemed to miss. Although one managed to connect to something small and Peter was gripping onto something small and cold, he slipped it in his pocket without looking at it, whatever it was he could inspect it when he was safely away from the Vulture. 

With a brush of the Vulture’s wings, Peter’s next leap was thrown off and he ended up ramming his abdomen into the edge of the opening in the top of the van. He scrambled trying to climb out but the weight of the duffle bag pulled him backwards and all he managed to grab was one of the blue orbs as he fell back and landed awkwardly on top of the bag. 

“Oh, ow,” he muttered and braced himself to resume the fight. 

He leapt up, and with a shuddering jolt of pain his head connected with the very much intact ceiling of the van. Just like that, Peter collapsed in a lump and everything went dark.

-

A slight bump and the rattling of the filled cages brought Peter back to the land of the living and to a pounding headache that made him want nothing more than his bed at home and a cup of May’s famous hot chocolate. 

“Oh, my head,” he murmured, his voice doing nothing to soothe the pain. 

Slowly, he stood up, using the metal cages to fully pull himself to his feet, he glanced around at his surroundings. 

He was in the truck still, but it had stopped moving, Peter felt his breath quicken as a new, terrifying thought filtered into his mind. What if they had hijacked the truck? What if they were all waiting out there for him? Could he take them all on? He could try, but he wasn't confident, after all he’d had his ass kicked twice now by the Vulture. 

How many people did the Vulture have on his side? How many people would be out there ready to fight? 

Oh God, Peter was going to die in a truck in an unknown location and there was a good chance the bad guys would just dispose of his body, therefore meaning Peter Parker would go missing on a school trip. His family and friends would never know what happened to him, they would never get closure. 

“Alright, Peter, you’re spiralling,” he said to himself as he fixed his mask, “get it together.”

He backed up a few steps and then sprinted at the doors, they flew off the hinges easily and he tumbled across the ground with them. That wasn't the most graceful start to a fight, but he quickly jumped up to his feet and was met with… nothing. 

In fact, he hadn't even been in a truck. The container had been removed from the back and stacked with hundreds of others. He appeared to be in a giant warehouse. 

“What the-” 

DODC-V05

The lettering on the wall looked familiar. Where had he seen DODC before? Peter jumped up to the doors and stuck to them while trying to pry them apart, it ended up being a hopeless attempt, they wouldn't budge. 

“Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered and strained every part of himself in an attempt to escape. 

It wasn't happening, his strength just wasn't enough, and that was when it suddenly hit him. He remembered where he had seen the DODC before, it had been on the news after the Avengers had saved New York and Tony Stark had organised the clean up as an apology for the damage caused. It was the damage control, which meant that Peter was currently surrounded by Chitauri weapons. 

“Cool,” he breathed out, leaping off the doors, if he had to be stuck in one of the most secure places in the world, then he may as well have a rake through all the awesome alien technology. 

There was a lot of stuff surrounding him, but he decided to start with the container that he’d broken free from, and the duffle bag. Whatever was in that bag was probably the most important as the Vulture had wanted it, so of course Peter had to see what it was. Maybe it had something that could help him escape. 

The bag contained a lot of stuff that Peter couldn't identify, and an awesome whirring, decapitated head which Peter had to force himself to throw to the side as he thought about how cool Ned would find it. 

“Oh, hey there glowy thing,” he murmured, pulling out a little purple glowing orb almost identical to the one that was being protected by Ned. “What  _ are  _ you?” 

It continued to pulse and whir, maybe Peter could use his time locked up to figure out what it was. 

“Come on Glowy Two,” Peter said happily, “I’m sure we can find out what you’re capable of, hey! Maybe there’s more of you.”

With Glowy Two safely in his grasp Peter zipped around the place with his webs. The place was huge, ridiculously so, how much technology was hidden in the vault? It was terrifying to think how easy it was for the Vulture to get away with stealing, after all, that one duffle bag was nothing compared to the entire vault. It was smart of them to steal small amounts on a regular basis, rather than just hitting the entire vault. 

“Hey, Glowy Two, what if we remake those beepy orb things that the Vulture had and that way we can just step out of here?” Peter said suddenly, the orb whirred dramatically. “Yeah, I know I said I would find out what you are, but I can do both! I’m smart… sometimes.”

Peter hummed under his breath as he whizzed through the air back the the broken container and picked up the orb that had fallen in with him. 

“Ok, this doesn’t seem too complicated to make,” Peter mumbled, “we can even look for more of you, Glowy Two, while we look for the resources to make more of these.”

Peter set to work, he tried to move as fast as he could as it was easy to let time slip by when there was no way to tell what time it was without glancing at Ned’s phone and he needed to work, not stare at a screen. 

Everything was going great, Peter was almost ready to make a break for it, until suddenly it went horribly wrong. 

“Glowy Two! There’s a box full of orbs like you, I don't think I can name them all.” Peter mumbled running over to the box. “Wait… oh shit!” 

The box had a large warning sticker slapped on the front and Peter read the words a few times before the smug joy at rebuilding the beepy orbs bled away and he was left with a cold, empty feeling. 

WARNING: EXPLOSIVES

Explosives? As in… bombs? 

Peter was holding a bomb? He had named an alien object with the power to kill him ‘Glowy Two’? 

He had given Ned the other glowy thing. 

He had Ned’s phone. 

“Oh no, no, no, no,” he stammered out as he raced towards the door, leaving Glowy Two lying on the floor by the box of bombs. 

Peter threw his three orbs at the door, shooting a web to secure them in an uneven triangle. He waited with bated breath, after a long moment they beeped and connected in a haze of light. He’d done it, now all he had to do was make it back to the hotel before the Decathlon and warn Ned that the glowy thing was a bomb. 

He made sure that the Spider-Man mask was sitting properly and his backpack was secure, then with a deep breath he jumped through the glowing triangle, immediately shooting a web upwards and pulling himself up to a bridge, crawling along the underside. A truck drove under him and he very smoothly let his body drop onto the top of it, absorbing most of the impact with his knees as to not alert the driver that he was there.

He needed to make it to the decathlon as quickly as possible, pulling out Ned’s phone and making a mental promise to give him some money for the phone bill he was wracking up, he searched the quickest way to get there. He was too late to meet Ned at the hotel and warn him, time had gotten away from Peter and it was a race to get to Ned before the glowy thing blew up, sadly that meant that he would potentially let all his teammates down by missing the decathlon. He just hoped that Ned would be able to feign a good excuse. 

He couldn't even try to call him to warn him of the danger since he had his phone. 

“Come on.” Peter whispered as a car drove alongside the truck, going considerably faster than the larger vehicle. 

Peter ran along the top, before jumping and landing on the roof of the car scaring the driver and causing him to swerve drastically. The truck blared its horn at them and Peter plastered himself to the roof of the car and hoped that the driver hadn't realised what had hit him. 

“Stupid damn trucks not securing their loads, if there’s any damage I swear…” the man’s threat trailed off but it was enough for Peter to breathe a sigh of relief. He hadn't been found out. 

Despite the guy’s irritation at the potential damage to the roof of his car, he didn't seem to care about weaving in and out of traffic, overtaking and undertaking to his heart’s content, if Peter wasn’t so desperate to make it to Ned as quickly as possible, he may have been afraid. 

Thankfully, the car neared the area, and Peter shot a web and swung off the roof, landing on a bus instead. He was too late, people were milling about outside the venue for the decathlon, he’d missed everything and he had no idea where Ned was.

Where could he have gotten to? 

Peter didn't have to worry about the answer to that question for long, as a ground shaking boom echoed through the air and debris started to fall from the top of the Washington Monument. He was too late. It didn't take a genius to realise what had caused the noise and the damage, someone - Ned - had taken an explosive device into the Monument, he just hadn't realised it. What if someone was hurt? 

Peter sprinted towards the Washington Monument, turning heads all the way with his homemade Spider-Man suit, he successfully gained a few giggled and pointed fingers, but he couldn't bring himself to care all that much as his focus was pinned on the potential disaster in front of him. 

He launched his backpack towards a nearby tree and shot a web at it to secure it in place. He couldn't tell how much web fluid was remaining in his shooters, he had to just cross his fingers and hope that there was enough to get everyone to safety. 

He skidded to a stop at the bottom of the monument, looking up against the sun towards the top of the building. 

“My friends are up there!” A horrifyingly familiar voice shouted. 

Michelle. Michelle had friends? No, not the time to ponder the implications of that sentence. Her friends - which meant his teammates and probably Ned - were in trouble.

“What?” Peter asked, before panicking and hastily forcing himself to speak lower. “Uhhh, don’t worry ma’am, everything’s gonna be ok.” 

He sprinted forward without thinking any further about it, this wasn't just about him and Ned any more. There were far too many lives at risk, if even one person died, then that would be too many people. 

“Excuse me, excuse me,” Peter mumbled as he weaved through the masses of people who were watching the disaster unfold. “Oh my god that’s tall.”

It was ridiculously tall, but he didn't have time to think of another option as the guards at the entrance were refusing entry to everyone, so instead Peter shot a web as high up the Monument as he could and pulled himself up to attach himself to the side. He moved quickly, scaling the building at a faster pace than he had ever scaled anything before. It was hard work, he was panting and the exhaustion and effort of sucking in enough oxygen to fuel himself made his fingers and toes tingle. 

More dust seemed to fall from above Peter so he renewed his efforts with as much vigor as he could. He had to save them, he  _ had  _ to. It was his fault that the glowy thing had ended up in the Monument, he had given his best friend a  _ bomb _ and told him to keep it safe, if he didn't save everyone then he would have too much blood on his hands. 

He jumped upwards in an attempt to cover more ground, flinging his body vertically in a terrifying way that left him suspended in the air for brief moments as he climbed higher. Nothing was fast enough, he shot his webs as high as he could and used them to slingshot his body even higher. 

“Faster, please,” he gasped out breathlessly.

More dust filtered down, as well as a chunk of concrete. Things were deteriorating in there, he needed to hurry, he needed to be faster. Mostly though, he needed to figure out how he was going to get inside. 

He paused for a moment and leaned back a little, ignoring the way his stomach swooped as he did so, there was a window above. He was only halfway up the Monument, but there was at least a potential entry point. 

“I’m on my way,” he panted as he moved towards it, his grip slipping for a second before he caught himself and continued. 

Peter was struggling, he paused pressing his head against the building for a moment while he panted. With a groan he turned around, before making the mistake of looking down. 

“Ok, oh my god, oh my god. Ok, oh!” He took a few deep breaths. “It’s fine, I’ve just never been this high before.”

He braced himself and crawled along the Monument to look through the window, he could barely see what was going on, he needed to try another window. He didn't waste any more time and made his way around to a more optimal entry point. 

Would May be more mad at him for being murdered by the Vulture in the DODC vault, or for falling off the Washington Monument?

Peter jumped onto the small ledge as he pondered the answer, in truth she’d probably be more mad that he was jumping around Queens in upcycled pyjamas without her knowing or anyone being there to save his reckless ass. He kicked the glass with his heel. 

It didn't break. 

“Why is it not breaking?” He asked no one as he panicked. His entire plan was based on him getting through the window, who was he kidding? Getting through the window was his plan. 

He slapped his forehead. He was an idiot. This was the Washington Monument, there was no way they would have any old glass. He probably needed to build more momentum. 

Peter shot a web just above himself and slowly lowered himself back until he was standing on the window, only his web stopping him from falling. He jumped - swinging himself up as high as he could, but when he landed the glass remained unbroken.

He tried again, a small crack appeared under his heel but he was still on the outside. 

That was when the shit truly hit the fan and a police helicopter turned up. 

“This is D.C. Metro Police. Identify yourself.” A police officer said through a megaphone.

“My friends are in there! Stop!” Peter yelled back, they had to let him help. They  _ had  _ to. 

“Return to the ground immediately.” The officers had guns trained on him, that was worrying, he knew that he could heal faster than a normal human thanks to the spider bite, but he didn't know how long it would take him to heal a bullet wound. 

Looking through the window Peter could see his friends and classmates struggling to escape the elevator, he couldn't return to the ground. He needed to stop them from falling to their death. 

“Stand down! Return to the ground immediately!” Peter ignored them, climbing to the top of the building. “Return to the ground or we will open fire!”

“I got this, I got this,” Peter mumbled to himself as he held onto the very top of the Monument. 

“This is your last chance!”

“I’m gonna die.” Peter said, sounding very matter of fact. 

He pushed off the top with all his strength, turning in the air above the rotating helicopter blades and extending his arms to allow the webbing wings to allow himself to soar a little further. On his way down the other side he shot a web at it's legs, using it to create enough momentum so that when he let go he flew towards the window. 

It broke. 

Peter shot a web to catch it, sliding forward through the broken glass and catching himself on the elevator doors. He had succeeded. 

“I did it!” he exclaimed, and then the doors broke. 

He fell forward into the elevator that had stopped for a split second, except as soon as Peter’s weight hit the floor it started to fall again. Thinking quickly Peter shot another web towards the top of the elevator shaft. He braced himself against what was left of the roof of the elevator and held everyone up. 

“Hey!” he said in a thick New York accent, “how you doing? Don’t worry, I got you!” 

“Yes! Yes!” Ned shouted, jumping up and down in excitement. 

Peter panicked and lost the accent that was disguising his voice. “Hey, hey, hey, big guy, quit moving around.”

“I’m sorry sir, I’m so sorry!”

Peter slowly started to pull the elevator back up the shaft and, eventually, with a great deal of difficulty, they were at door level where the security team at the Monument were able to peel the doors back and start to help everyone out. 

“Alright, this is your stop,” Peter said, “go, go, go. Everybody out. Move it, people. Move it, move it.”

They needed to move faster as the metal under Peter’s face was starting to give way. 

It wasn't going to last, it was going to- 

It snapped. 

“Liz!” Peter yelled as he shot a web at the girl he had a crush on, clinging onto his own securing web with his feet. It caught her around the wrist and he breathed a small sigh of relief. “You’re ok, you’re ok.”

He pulled her up carefully until he managed to get ahold of her hand, “oh my god,” she mumbled absolutely terrified. 

“So, uh, is everyone ok?” Peter asked in his ‘other’ voice as soon as everyone was safely outside of the elevator. 

He would have looked so cool in that moment if his web hadn't failed causing him to plummet down the elevator shaft, two voices echoing down after him. 

“Thank you!”

“Are you really friends with Peter Parker?”

He caught himself in the elevator shaft and clung to the side of it for a few minutes, panting heavily and trying to get rid of the tingly panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He’d done it, he’d managed to save everyone and despite almost dying to do it, he couldn't help but feel like if he could redo the situation, he’d do it all again. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come follow me on tumblr @[ephemeralstark](https://ephemeralstark.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thank you so much for reading, and thank you to every one who comments, subscribes and/or leaves a kudos. you guys are the best


	4. whoopsies

The drive home had been tense, Flash had been shooting him smug, sneering looks the entire time as he’d had to take Peter’s place on the team due to his evening adventures - or as the team believed, due to Peter being a flake. Mr. Harrington had been relieved to find that Peter had survived everything, apparently he hadn't even realised that Flash was standing in for Peter, something that had infuriated the boy beyond belief and caused Peter to believe that school was going to be hell for a few weeks.

Between the ‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed’ speech that Liz had given him - a speech that he’d barely listened to because he was too busy remembering the way she had looked in his eyes while he had been saving her life, not that she’d known it was him - and the quickly whispered questions from Ned, Peter was ready to crash for a million years.

By the time the bus arrived back at school, the sun was long gone and the car park was filled with swarms of parents and news reporters, all determined to find out first hand what had happened on their school trip from hell. 

In the sea of concerned faces, one stood out… May. 

“Peter!” May shouted as she spotted him coming off the bus. “Come here, come here!” 

She ran up to him, pulling him in for a tight hug, a hug that screamed of fear, relief and worry. Peter couldn't help but sink into the embrace, his muscles were aching, his head was pounding and while he had been standing on the ledge at the top of the Washington Monument, he had genuinely had to come to terms with his impending death. A strong part of him had believed that he would never see his Aunt May again, so the moment he did, he had to fight back the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. 

“Oh my God,” she whispered, pulling back and stroking his face in that familiar way that seemed to settle his nerves, “I was so worried.”

“Don’t be, I was fine,” Peter said, “I ended up being stuck in bed with a migraine the entire time. I wasn't in any danger.”

“Oh thank God,” May mumbled, “not that you had a migraine, but yeah, I’d rather that than have you risking your life in that elevator.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, “I was better off in bed.”

He ignored the hateful glare that Flash shot his way, as May shepherded him away from the mass of people and towards her car all the while murmuring relieved statements about him being home. 

Peter didn't sleep that night, he tossed and turned in his bed, thoughts plagued with everything that had happened the last few days. Everytime he dropped off into a light doze, he would find himself falling off the Washington Monument causing him to jerk awake, panting rapidly as he clutched his chest.

It was with a great deal of relief and effort that Peter walked down the corridor at Midtown Tech the next day. Relief because the normal environment and bustling body of students eased his anxiety and fear that he was facing death, and effort because he was exhausted - his body felt sluggish and he began to dread the energy that was required for the day ahead. 

_ “...up next: the Spider-Man mania is sweeping the school. How can you show your spider spirit?” _

Ned was very much enjoying the attention that Spider-Man was getting, he was bouncing along looking every bit like an over energetic puppy. 

“Dude, dude, dude, dude, dude,” Ned rambled as he ran down the corridor towards Peter. “What is it like being famous when nobody knows it's you?”

“Crazy, dude,” Peter admitted, unable to stop the smile from appearing on his face, not that he was smiling about being ‘famous’, more that he was amused at Ned’s excitement. 

“It’s crazy,” Ned agreed, before shooting Peter a curious look, “should we tell everyone?”

“No!” Peter protested instantly, he didn't want to consider how much danger his family would be in if he agreed to reveal his identity. 

“Should  _ I  _ tell everyone?” Ned corrected, misunderstanding Peter’s hesitancy. 

“No, dude,” Peter said, “that’s not a good idea.”

Peter dreaded to think about the rumours that would fly, it would endanger everyone in his school, that was if anyone even believed Ned. maybe they would assume he was lying, and the bullying would get worse, so much worse.

“Ok, well,” Peter was always amused by how passionate Ned could be about a plan just to abandon it in a millisecond as soon as he realised it wouldn't work out, “come on, we’ll be late to class.”

“I’m not going to class,” Peter said suddenly, surprising even himself. 

“But you’re already in trouble for ditching the decathlon.”

“Dude, listen, I figured it out right, the wingsuit guy - The Vulture - is stealing from Damage Control,” Peter said quietly, so no one could overhear, “and what he takes from damage control, that’s how he builds his weapons. All I gotta do is catch him.”

“But we have a Spanish quiz.” Spanish quiz? Didn't he realise how close Peter was to making Queens so much safer, to getting terrifying weapons that could kill people, off the streets? 

“Ned, this is a priority,” Peter said, “school is school, and yeah it’s important but Spider-Man is my responsibility. I can't sit back and let people get hurt because I cared more about my grades than their lives.”

“Dude, you wanna be a high school dropout?” Ned asked in shock.

“I am so far beyond highschool just now.” Peter said as he started to walk away,  _ and I don't know if I’ll survive to be a dropout.  _

“Parker, my office.” Of course he was caught saying that by Principal Morita. 

“Sir, please, it was a migraine.” Peter attempted to argue as he followed the principal, Ned shooting him a pitying glance and a half hearted wave goodbye as he left for the Spanish quiz.

And so after a strenuous half hour of being laid into for everything he had let slip since becoming Spider-Man, from extracurriculars to grades to ditching the decathlon, Peter found himself sitting in detention and watching Captain America whirl a chair around to sit on it backwards, as though he was one of them and had any idea what they were going through. 

“So, you got detention…” 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

He had been so close to genuinely causing a difference and now he was stuck in a classroom with a bunch of other students who had missed homework, or arrived late, or… were MJ - seriously, why was she there? 

Oh, who was he kidding, of course he wasn't anywhere near to causing a difference. He barely had any idea how to track The Vulture. They had probably only been in Maryland for the heist on the Damage Control vehicles, which left him almost back at square one. He wasn't sure where to start with tracking The Vulture and his men, how did you find someone without a name or a face? 

He needed better technology, he needed to be more like a  _ real  _ superhero, he needed to be more like Tony Stark. Iron Man would be able to track someone down in seconds, Peter had heard rumours of the technology hidden within his tower, he’d seen the sheer volume of personnel that had been involved with him moving upstate. Everyday on the news there was a small clip of the heavily armed men who were keeping a close eye on all the equipment that was being packaged up, and in the middle of them all was Happy Hogan - a man Peter knew little about other than the fact that he had a close connection with Iron Man. 

If Peter could get close to Hogan then maybe he would be able to- 

No. 

He was being stupid, of course he would never be able to use Iron Man’s tech to track down a alien weapons dealer, even daydreaming about the possibility was ridiculous. Instead he would have to try and figure out a way to do it on his own. He was smart, even if his grades were slipping thanks to prioritising Queens’ safety over his homework, surely he could figure it out on his own.

Maybe he could create a tracking software, he’d need to hack into some pretty hardcore government databases, but there was a potenital plan there. Maybe he could even hack surveillance cameras and track the van they had used to see where they had gone after they failed to gain more alien tech. 

He perked up a little in his seat, that was actually a feasible option. 

With a harsh squeak of shoes again linoleum and Captain America’s voice continuing to lecture him - “we all know what’s right, we all know what’s wrong” - Peter grabbed his backpack and rushed from the room, the movement waking Coach Wilson from his peaceful slumber. He attempted to call after Peter but it was too late, he had a plan. 

“Please don't catch me again,” Peter mumbled as he kept his head down and hood up while he strolled down the corridor, pausing quickly to lift the lockers up and grab a dusty bottle of his web fluid. He really needed to work out whether the fluid had an expiry date, but that was a problem for future him. 

Once he made it outside, he ran. He  _ sprinted  _ as fast as he could, the rubber on the soles of his shoes started to warm a little with the constant, rapid friction against the pavement. 

“May? May?”

It appeared there was no one home, that was good, it meant that he would be able to start hacking in peace, it also meant that if he messed up and the government found out he was hacking them, May wouldn't be in the firing line when the FBI broke down their door.

Peter powered up his computer and sat back in his chair while he waited for all the systems to power up, he was pretty proud of the device, despite it looking shoddy and dated, it was able to run at the same speed as a high tech laptop that would have set him back thousands of dollars - the perks of dumpster diving and building his own device. 

So, with his wealth of knowledge about all things technical, Peter opened his web browser and typed out  _ ‘how to hack surveillance cameras’.  _

“This is crazy, I shouldn't be doing this,” Peter whispered to no one as he scrolled through the links that popped up, “bad idea, Peter, seriously.”

Just as he moved the cursor over a potentially promising link, a loud buzzing filled the room. Peter glanced around in confusion, he had returned Ned’s phone to him, and while May had ordered Peter a new one - it hadn't arrived yet, so what was making the noise? 

Peter traced the noise all the way back to his Spider-Man suit, in one of the pockets there was a phone, buzzing away as someone tried to call it. A phone? How? 

“Oh!” Peter gasped suddenly, abandoning his thoughts about hacking as he leapt carefully carried the phone back to his desk, not wanting to risk accepting the call. 

When he had confronted The Vulture on top of the Damage Control truck, he’s shot a web and pulled something off him, at the time Peter had been distracted by pain and those terrifying laser eyes that had pierced their way into his nightmares, so he hadn't even realised that the thing he had grabbed was a phone. 

The Vulture’s phone. 

Peter unlocked it without any difficulty, for a guy of questionable morals and undeniable technological knowledge, The Vulture was really dumb. He hadn't even used a passcode. 

“Dumbass.” 

It turned out that Peter wouldn't be able to use the phone to track down The Vulture, it was very much a burner phone, used only to connect to criminal connections - or so Peter was assuming. There were no pictures, no social media apps, no family messages.

None of the contacts had names, just phone numbers. The number that had been calling had also left a few messages. 

_ On board.  _

_ You better be here.  _

_ You aren’t answering, if you’ve stood me up I will come for you and your family.  _

“On board?” Peter mumbled to himself, “on board what?”

He scrolled up to see further messages.

_ Staten Island Ferry, 11am.  _

_ One week today.  _

That was today, and the guy who had sent the messages was already on board, which meant that Peter needed to move. He also needed to change, he couldn't confront him as Peter Parker, it had to be as Spider-Man. He rushed to change, squawking as he stumbled and fell to the floor after shoving both feet into the same trouser leg. 

Once he had successfully managed to change, and had refilled the cannisters of web fluid on his shooters, he opened the window and hopped out onto the fire escape, it wasn't often he would leave the apartment kitted out in his Spider-Man suit, it was too risky for May, but this was an emergency. He had to make it to the ferry before it left, his webs would be useless if he missed it, they couldn't adhere to water so he’d be stranded while the deal went down. 

“Come on, Peter,” he mumbled as he shot webs in every direction, soaring through the air and dodging buildings as he headed in the direction of the ferry docks. 

“No, no, no, no!” Peter shouted as he reached the docks and saw the ferry pulling away. 

He swung from one of his webs, knowing fully well that there was nothing for him to latch onto again as once he let go he would be over the sea, his only hope would be to either land on the ferry, or manage to stick to the side. There was no guarantee that he would make it, but still he let go and felt the wind ruffle his suit as he soared through the air. 

Images flashed through his mind of himself struggling underwater after being dropped by The Vulture, his throat almost felt like it was closing up and being crushed by the weight of water pressing on him from every side. Just as the panic felt like it was going to burn up his stomach and consume him, Peter collided with the side of the ferry, automatically sticking onto it as though his life depended on it. 

“Nice.” He complimented himself, his voice trembled slightly so he cleared his throat in an attempt to clear the evidence of nerves.

After taking a moment to get himself together and silently celebrate catching the ferry on time, he crawled up the side to peer through one of the windows. There were so many voices speaking at the same time, it was overwhelming and hurt his head, but he tried his best to focus, and he picked up on a familiar sounding man. 

“He’s up front, main deck,” the man said, “I hate this guy.”

It was one of the men from the bridge, Peter could remember that night vividly in his mind, and in his nightmares. There was no mistaking that this was the right ferry. 

“Just keep me posted.” Another man answered. 

“Who’s that other guy?” Peter asked aloud, he didn't expect an answer of course, but he couldn't stop his curiosity, and he continued to crawl up the side of the ferry, listening intently to everything that was going on. There were too many innocent bystanders for the situation to get out of hand, he needed to be careful.  __ Silently, he flipped himself up onto the roof so that he could overlook the people on the deck. 

“Who are you?” Peter whispered as he took in the new face that had appeared. He was distracted from the new face by the man from the inside of the ferry walking up to the unknown guy and telling him exactly what Peter needed to know, “white pickup truck.”

“The buyers, sellers  _ and  _ weapons?” Peter whispered to himself, almost giddy with how lucky he had gotten, “these people are just handing themselves over.”

He watched as keys were handed over and he knew that he had to intervene. Those keys would give these new guys access to weapons, on a boat filled with unknowing people. People who were just trying to have a good time and didn't deserve to be put in harm's way. 

“I’ll take those!” Peter yelled as he shot a web at the set of keys that were being handed over. “Yoink! Hey guys-” he jumped down to stand in front of them “-the illegal weapons deal ferry was at 10:30. You missed it.” 

That angered them, they didn't appear to appreciate his interruption and as if they had planned it, all of the men drew their weapons on him at the same time.

Peter shot a web between the two men nearest him and used them to create a slingshot for himself and fired his own body at another man, feet first so that he kicked him and the gun dropped from the bad guy’s hands as the man was thrown from the ferry. Peter’s heart stuttered as he saw the man go over the edge, he was a bad guy, but he didn't deserve to drown. 

Peter aimed his web shooters quickly, catching the man before he could fall off completely, he didn't quite succeed in pulling him back onto the ferry, instead the guy ended up being rammed into the side of the ferry and was left to grip on for dear life while Peter dodged a taser-y looking weapon that was flying towards the back of his head. 

It missed and instead collided with metal grating just behind him, causing sparks to fly into the air and drawing the attention of the passengers,  _ stay away,  _ Peter mentally pleaded, hoping that no one would get hurt. Thankfully, the weapon ended up getting stuck, taking it out of the equation for a short period of time. 

“Spider-guy’s here.” one of the men muttered. 

“Woah, woah, woah, not so fast!” Peter yelled shooting out multiple webs as two of the men tried to get up, he threw them - and a motorbike - through the air. They screamed as they were thrown and slammed into metal railings and posts, Peter couldn't help but wince a little, “are you guys ok? My bad, that was a little hard.” 

The man with the taser puncher was still stuck, “I gotta say, the other guy was better with that thing,” Peter informed him, thinking about how much it had hurt to be hit by that thing as he renewed his web fluid in his web shooters, “I’m honestly, I’m… I’m shocked.” 

Peter’s Spidey- Sense screamed at him and he whirled around to see a man sprinting at him, apparently he had intended to attack while Peter’s back had been turned. That was rude, but it didn't take long for the man to be lying on the ground, groaning as he hovered on the edge of consciousness. 

In a shocking turn of events, Peter turned to see one of the men grabbing another and ramming his head against one of the vehicles on the ferry. He watched the man fall to the ground, unconscious, and turned to meet Peter's gaze, a very subtle, sadistic smile pricking at the corners of his lips. 

Peter was momentarily distracted by an unsettling fear in the pit of his stomach as he made eye contact with the man. He didn't think he would ever forget that face, or the smile. What kind of guy could turn on his his own men and  _ smile  _ about it? Something in Peter’s gut was screaming at him that this was The Vulture, this man was dangerous. 

In his distraction, one of the men snuck up behind Peter grabbed him in a choke hold, he panicked for a moment, feeling his oxygen cut off. 

_ Stop, please, I can’t breathe,  _ Peter wanted to say, but all that escaped was a small whine and the last of his precious air. After a moment of pure, unadulterated panic he remembered that he was stronger than the guy choking him. 

After summoning a great deal of energy Peter managed to latch a hand onto the arm around his neck and he hauled it off, the guy who it belonged to let out a strangled gasp and seemed to curl in on himself as he was thrown to the ground, cradling his arm to his chest… ok so maybe Peter had used a little bit too much strength, but the guy had been choking him. It was understandable to overreact. 

“Sorry.” Peter mumbled despite not feeling very apologetic, still though, May and Ben had raised him to have manners.

A sudden, loud buzzing filled the air, followed by the sound of metal grinding against metal, a sound that pained Peter and made him wish he could just curl up in a ball and cover his ears. 

The Vulture.

His wings were apparently strong and sturdy as they managed to cut through the cars as though they were butter 

“Oh crap.” Peter mumbled to himself. 

The Vulture shot a ball of bright, sparking purple light towards Peter, who dodged it at the last moment but as it sailed past him it left behind a smoldering hole in the metal railings.

A car was thrown towards Peter who stupidly was too busy marveling at the hole in the metal and his near miss, that he ended up taking the brunt of the hit from a car that was thrown at him. It soared over the side of the ferry, almost taking Peter with it, so he shot a web and held on for dear life. Tugging against it with all his strength he managed to pull himself back up onto the deck of the ferry. That was a relief. 

Although apparently The Vulture didn't think the same thing, and with a cry of anger he took to the sky, whirling around to face Peter with ease showing his skill at flying and subtly threatening that he wouldn't be an easy foe for Spider-Man to defeat, thankfully though, Peter only needed to incapacitate him long enough for the police to arrest him. 

Unfortunately for Peter he was blown out of his thoughts by a blast of purple light that burned through the ferry and made Peter shudder at the thought of that hitting him, it would surely kill him. There was no way he could survive a blast that was cutting through tons and tons of metal, it was physically impossible, even for Peter’s enhanced healing. 

"Get to the top deck," The Vulture called out to his men who automatically complied like mindless robots, "we're getting out of here." 

Peter shot a web at one of them in an attempt to stop him from getting away, but The Vulture fired again, the blast of light cutting through the webbing like candy floss melting in water. The man made a hasty escape and Peter didn't try to stop him, it didn't matter anyway, no amount of time and effort would allow him to capture any of The Vulture’s men while the winged head hog himself was still flying around and ensuring their escape. 

He would have to take down The Vulture first.

_ Thwip.  _

Peter shot a web at his feet, silently cheering when it connected with his metal boot and despite The Vulture’s best attempts to pull away, he couldn't. He was held in place, Peter shot more webs, strengthening his hold on the winged man. His feet lifted off the deck and PEter cursed himself for not sticking in place. 

With another  _ thwip  _ filling the air, Peter used another web to cement himself to the ferry.

He had him! All he needed to do was slowly pull The Vulture in and use more webs to tie him up and that was it, he was done. He would have beaten his rival. 

Of course he should have known that it was easier said than done. As if in slow motion, The Vulture brought a wing around in front of himself, it glinted menacingly in the sunlight before metallic blades came together with a terrifying  _ SNIP  _ and cut through all of the webs so that he was free to fly unhindered with the residual webs hanging uselessly like silly string. 

The Vulture aimed his gun again and fired, the blast of light was heading straight for Peter,  he launched himself out over the sea, attaching his web to the vulture, and using him as a pivot to turn in midair and swing back towards the ferry. His heart was pounding relentlessly the entire time as he wondered what would happen if The Vulture snipped his web while he was over the sea. Peter wasn't feeling too hot about taking a dip in the water.

Bracing himself against the ferry and ensuring that he had enabled himself to stick to it, he shot a web at the weapon and hauled it with all his strength. The Vulture apparently hadn't expected his strength and in his shock Peter found the weapon soaring free and clattering against the deck of the ferry where everything got ten times worse. 

It started to fire at random, shooting dangerous blasts of purple light in every direction and threatening the lives of all the innocent bystanders, Peter had to think fast and with a series of accurately times presses against his web shooters he managed to simulate rapid fire webs that he then proceeded to shoot at it until the blasts from the gun couldn't escape through the protective webbing blanket..

"You're messing with things you don't understand." The Vulture threatened as the weapon seemed to fizzle angrily under the carefully constructed webs. 

“No, you-” Peter’s retort was abruptly cut off by intense beams of purple light flashing through the air, cutting through the webs that had contained the gun… cutting through more than that. 

Peter knew the blasts were capable of slicing through metal, however he hadn't realised that they were capable of cutting the damn boat in half. The blast filled the air and cut through the ship, metal grinded and burning invaded Peter’s delicate senses as his Spidey Senses screamed and jumped and danced and made his head spin around in overwhelming circles. 

The Vulture took that as his chance to escape and Peter couldn't do anything about it because he was too busy trying to get his haywire senses under control for long enough to help the innocent bystanders that were at risk because of his own stupid actions. 

He could hear everything, he could hear the bubbling of air as water poured into places it had no business being, he could hear the crying of a child who was terrified of the noises that were filling the air, he could hear crying and shouts of fear as people felt the ground shift beneath them, he could hear heartbeats - terrified heartbeats - stuttering and racing as people wondered how they were going to survive the mess that was unfolding. 

It was all his fault. 

He’d acted too rashly, he should have waited until the ferry had docked and the innocent people had left, he should have kept an eye on The Vulture and followed him, he should have stolen the weapons himself - no that one was a bad idea, Peter wouldn't even know where to begin if he had a hoard of weapons hidden under his bed. Knowing his luck, May would find them in a heartbeat. 

"What do I do?" Peter asked in panic, before remembering that there was no one to help. He was on his own, he created this mess, so he would have to mend it. 

In an instant he took to the air, shooting webs in every direction and pushing his muscles to their limit as he pulled and heaved and tried to pull the ferry back into one piece. It wasn't completely successful, he couldn't quite bring the ferry back together but he seemed to suspend it's catastrophe. Instead of continuing to fall to pieces, it hovered in a V-shape, held in place by the thin, but strong webs. 

He dodged sparks and felt flames lick at his suit as he continued to shoot webs and try to secure the ferry. 

“We need to get you all off,” he shouted to the huddled up people, “there are life jackets and floating- thingies on the deck. I don't know how long this thing is going to hold!” 

"Yeah, Spider-Man!" A man started to cheer and clap as though everything was fixed. 

While he was clapping webs started to fail, deadly snaps filled the air and Peter was forced to watch as all of his hard work was undone in a matter of seconds. 

"No!" Peter gasped, "no, no, no, no, no!"

Water began to flood in once more and Peter in his desperation launched himself into the middle, shooting a web at either side as he tried to hold everything together, the strain pulled at his arms and he felt like his body was going to be torn in half.

“Quick!” he grunted out. “Life jackets.”

Thankfully the people seemed to realise the urgency of the situation and they started to sprint towards the deck, parents held their children tightly and couples ran with joined hands, everyone hoping to make it to a life jacket without losing their loved ones. 

Oh god, it hurt. It hurt so bad. 

Peter couldn't stop the strained scream from escaping as he  _ felt  _ his muscles tearing. He couldn't do it, he couldn't, he was too weak. He was just Peter Parker, he was stupid to think that he could be a superhero. He couldn't do this, he wasn't a real superhero like Tony Stark or the Black Widow. He was a pathetic kid playing dress up in a handmade suit and people were going to die because of him. 

With a whimper, Peter’s grip slackened, and he found himself falling through the air towards the churning water that was angrily forcing its way into the ferry. 

“Mommy look, Spider-Man is dead.” A little girl said pointing her finger at Peter as she was dragged along by her mother who didn't even spare a glance in his direction, she only cared about protecting her daughter. 

Peter couldn't even bring himself to blame her, he wanted them all to survive, he had tried his best to hold everything together long enough to give them all the best chance he possibly could. 

And so with the sight of flames licking up the inside of the falling ferry, and people helping one another into safety vests, Peter was sucked under the waves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your patience with this update, work has been taking up all of my spare time and writing is difficult when i'm busy but i appreciate your comments and kudos more than i can ever say so thank you all dearly. 
> 
> if you wanna ask anything or chat hmu on tumblr @[ephemeralstark](https://ephemeralstark.tumblr.com/)


	5. the ferry fiasco

Mommy look, Spider-Man is dead…

Spider-Man is dead…

Dead…

Peter was dead, gone, washed under the waves and forced to succumb to the powerful forces that sought to remove him from the world. He was being dragged further and further away from everything he had fought so hard to protect, it was like the water had a life of its own - maybe a life that it was stealing from him. Part of him wanted to just relax, he could let the water take him, he could finally rest. 

Except… May would be left alone and he couldn't do that to her.

He could remember when she had held him after Ben’s funeral, her arms wrapping around him as she prevented him from shattering into pieces while she promised over and over that she would never leave him. They would always have each other to rely on, even as she grieved the loss of her husband, she was there for Peter and made sure that he knew he wouldn't ever be alone. It was time for him to return the favour.

He couldn't make her lose someone again, especially as this time she really would be alone.

Peter forced his eyes open, murky water stung at them as soon as he did but that was ok as it meant that he wasn't dead yet. He was alive and had enough fight left in him to try and get home, after all he had people depending on him. He had May and Ned to worry about, he had all of the ferry’s passengers to check on, he had the citizens of Queens to protect. 

He was Spider-Man and Spider-Man’s job wasn't finished.

Despite the stinging in his eyes that made him blink in pain, he forced himself to look around and try to see what was going on around, everything was blurry due to him being underwater but still, he squinted and focused as best he could.

Peter shoved his arms through the liquid that surrounded him and propelled himself upwards to where rays of light were streaming through the surface of the water.

When his head broke through the surface of the water he was met with an image out of an apocalypse movie, the sky around them was darkened with the plumes of smoke that billowed from the sinking ferry. One half had fallen inwards so the outer shell was facing the sky, and the other half - the one that was producing most of the pollution in the air around him - was sinking faster, the inside of the ferry burning at a terrifying rate as it had fallen backwards.

What if there were people still in there?

He needed to get over there, but first air. The fabric of his mask was restricting his ability to breathe as the material seemed to hold onto the water, he pulled it up over his nose - still concealing his identity but allowing him to keep going for long enough to save everyone.

Peter attempted to shoot a web so he could pull himself over, but when he pressed the buttons on his web-shooters nothing happened.

“No, no, no, come on,” Peter muttered, his voice high with panic as he continued to ram his fingers into the buttons as though using more force would make them work.

It didn't. 

Parker luck struck again.

He was out of web fluid, or at least that was his best guess. It couldn't be the water causing them to malfunction, because when the Vulture had dropped him in the lake they had worked afterwards.

With no other option available, he started to swim towards the burning wreck, he needed to take some swimming lessons because he was slow, every stroke seemed to take him further away from the ship. Every part of him was screaming with exhaustion and pain, he wanted nothing more than to go home and relax in his bed with his laptop and a bingeable series on Netflix, but he couldn't.

He had put these people in danger, he had been the one to start the fight, he had been far too hotheaded and eager to bring an end to everything. If only he’d bided his time and planned things out a little more, maybe then things would have progressed more discreetly. Or at least, if it had come down to a fight there wouldn't have been so many potential casualties.

Had anyone been seriously harmed already?

If they had then it would be his fault, he would be to blame for their injuries, or even their deaths.

Finally his hands hit something solid, he had reached the ferry. Shaking both of his hands, he managed to remove the excess water from them which allowed him to stick to the ferry - well, mostly. They were still damp, meaning that he slid a little when he climbed, but all things considered he was successfully climbing up the flaming side and he managed to crawl inside.

"Hello?" Peter called out, "is anyone in here?"

No reply, just the crackling sound of flames licking at the vehicles that were piled up, having been tossed about after the boat had been cut in half by the light-gun-thing.

"Oh no," Peter muttered as he looked at the ever growing flames, if they reached the fuel, they would blow. There wasn't a lot he was going to be able to do to prevent that, but he could empty the ship of any passengers before that happened... or die trying.

_ I'm sorry May,  _ he thought. He'd been doing that a lot - apologising to May for stupid situations he had gotten into while out as Spider-Man.

"Anyone? I'm here to help!" He shouted, pushing thoughts of letting May down to the back of his mind. He would make it up to her by saving as many people as he could, and trying his best to return home to her.

"Help me!" A small voice called out, they sounded far away.

"Keep calling out, I'm coming," Peter called out, "I need to find you."

"I'm here, please, please, help me."

Peter followed the voice, scampering across the walls and dodging flames that were constantly blocking his path and poisoning his air supply with their smoke. With his enhanced hearing, it didn't take him long to find the person - an elderly man who had been pinned down by a large crate as water rapidly built around him, he had sat up as best he could with the crate on top of him, evidently an action that had saved his life.

"I gotcha." Peter mumbled, as he leapt off the wall and landed by the man's side, so he could wrap his hands around the crate and lift it. He paused briefly, remembering a documentary he had watched about crush injuries, but with the rising water and the potential explosion brewing nearby, he decided that there was no other option but to move the crate. Emergency services wouldn't be able to help this man in time.

"Thank you, thank you."

"Don't thank me, I'm just doing what's right."  _ After all I'm the reason you're in this mess.  _ "Are you hurt?"

"I don't think there's anything serious," the man decided, "I must just be a little tender from the box."

"Alright," Peter said, "let's get you out of here."

Using his strength, Peter wrapped an arm around the man and helped him walk across the ferry, they were slow, but they made progress, that was until they reached the part that they'd have to climb vertically.

"Ok, I'm gonna get you to wrap your arms around me as tight as you can, and then I can focus on climbing and getting us out of here." Peter said.

"I don't know, Kid," the old man said, "I might be a little heavy for you to do that."

"Don't worry," Peter said as reassuringly as he could muster up, "I'm strong."

"Are you sure there isn't another way to get out?"

"I don't know, and we don't have time to try and find one, there's a pile of burning cars that are set to explode nearby and we really don't want to be in the vicinity when that happens." Peter explained. "Once one goes up, they're all gonna go up."

"Alright, I guess we best give this a shot," the man muttered, "there isn't really much else we can do."

And so they gave it a shot. With the man practically choking Peter with how tightly he was holding on, they made their way up the side in a strange, nightmarish piggy back.

"Don't drop me, Kid." The man threatened.

If Peter had enough air, he'd probably have snapped back that being dropped was the least of their problems in that moment, maybe it was a good thing he didn't.

When they reached the top, Peter turned and started to climb down the other side. 

That was when the cars blew up.

Flames billowed up into the sky and Peter could feel their heat on his face as the air around them warmed and black smoke filled the air even more intensely than it had before. Well, if the emergency services weren't already aware of their plight, they would  _ surely  _ be informed after that. Peter was just glad that he’d managed to get them on the other side of the ferry before the explosion had occurred. 

"You ok?" Peter choked out.

"I'm fine," the man muttered, sounding as far from fine as it was possible to be.

"Can you swim?"

"Yes."

"Good," Peter said, "I'm gonna get you to swim over to the other half of the ferry, it's sinking slower due to the way it's fallen, so if we can all get on it, we can wait for the rescue boats or helicopters to come and get us all."

Peter left out the fact that he wouldn't be getting on any rescue boat or allowing himself to be hoisted up onto a rescue ‘copter, he would have to make his own way home to protect his identity.

"Hey, Kid," the man said before Peter could swim away, "thanks for this."

"Please, don't thank me." Peter said before pushing himself through the water towards other stranded people. 

He didn't deserve it.

This was all his fault.

Peter swam around at an infuriatingly slow pace, happy to see that the weak swimmers were all being supported by others, a few people recognised him and shouted out in joy at his being there to help them - he wanted to scream at every kind comment and inform them that they should be condemning him. 

Gradually, he guided everyone to the other half of the ferry, so far there were no complaints that people had lost someone. Of course that didn't guarantee that everyone was alive and safe, there was always the possibility that people had been travelling alone, so there was no one to miss them - like the old man. 

“Come on, come on, who’s next?” Peter called out, sticking to the side of the ferry with his feet and stretching down as far as he could to reach for the next person in the sea. “Up you come.”

Peter really needed to relax in a hot bubble bath, maybe with some muscle relaxing bath salts or something to ease the strain. Holding the ferry together had  _ hurt _ and it wasn't like his job ended after that, he was constantly swimming or pulling people about. His shoulders loudly complaining as he did so.

He didn't think his enhanced healing would be able to fix him by the morning this time. 

Finally he grabbed the last person and helped them up. 

“Is anyone missing?” He asked quickly, surveying the group of people who were crowded together on the upended half-ferry, huddling together as they shivered in the cool setting sun. Maybe he would have been shivering too, but the adrenaline was still coursing through his veins and creating a blanket numbness.

The people murmured amongst themselves while glancing at each other, before coming to the conclusion that Peter had - they didn't know. 

Thankfully, he didn't have to take responsibility for keeping the people safe for very long, the rhythmic sounds of spinning helicopter blades filled the air… numerous ones. 

“Alright, help is coming,” Peter said to the group, “stay here and don't, seriously don't, do anything stupid.”

“Wait,” a woman spoke up, “where are you going?”

“Uh… home?” 

“Won’t you need checked over first?” she asked, “I saw the way you held the ferry together, and you’ve been saving all of us. Maybe you should wait and get the all clear from the paramedics before going anywhere.”

“Thanks, but no.”

“But-”

“Really,” Peter said, cutting her off, “I’m fine.”

She opened her mouth again, maybe to reassure him that he would be able to keep his mask on - not that she had the authority to decide that - but Peter wasn't listening. Instinctively he pressed his web-shooters, before remembering that they were out of fluid when nothing happened. 

_ Guess I’m swimming… again.  _

With extremely little grace, Peter leapt off the overturned ferry and into the water, ignoring the calls to come back that followed him. Waves lapped at his suit and weighed him down, maybe that was why he was swimming so slowly. It would be nice to be able to blame his suit, at least then he’d have a reason. 

By the time he’d made it to the shore, the helicopters were hovering around the wreck he’d left behind, and if he glanced back he would see people being hoisted up to safety. 

May was going to be worried about him, surely the school would have called and told her that he had absconded from detention. She would have gotten home from work to find that he wasn't there, she couldn't call him thanks to his phone being lost in The Vulture’s lackey’s van somewhere. She was going to blow. 

He couldn't turn up in his Spider-Man suit, he would be found out instantly. May was probably already camped out in his room, waiting for him to attempt to sneak in unseen. So he needed a plan, and his plan was Ned. 

“Peter what the hell, dude?” Ned had greeted him with a look of annoyed confusion when Peter had tapped on his window later that evening after jogging to his house. 

“Ned, hey, I need a favour man.” 

“The ferry?” Ned continued as though he hadn't spoken. “What the hell happened? Did you do that? You know that’s what they’re saying right?”

Ned turned around his laptop to show Peter the latest Daily Bugle Online story. 

**LOCAL MENACE SPIDER-MAN DESTROYS FERRY AND ENDANGERS LIVES!**

“It wasn’t me,” Peter said, “and really? You’re using The Bugle as your source? Does anyone actually read their news any more?”

“That’s not the point here, what’s going on, dude?”

“It was The Vulture,” Peter explained, “he had a deal going down on that ferry and everyone was there; the dealers, buyers and the weapons. It was the perfect opportunity.”

“So what went wrong?”

“He had this laser-light-weapon-thingy, and it exploded,” Peter left out the part where it had been his fault that it exploded, “it cut the ferry in half.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, hey dude?” Peter paused for a second, unsure of whether he wanted to continue.

“What?” 

“I- um, was- did anyone… not make it?”

Ned looked at him for a second, and Peter felt like he was staring straight through him, “No, you got them all.”

Suddenly Peter could breathe, he hadn't realised how much the fear of missing someone was weighing on him. 

“Look, Peter,” Ned said looking more worried than Peter had ever seen him be, “this Vulture guy seems really dangerous, should you really be trying to fight him on your own?”

“What are you trying to say?” Peter asked. 

“I’m saying that you’re a kid, and maybe you need help with this.” 

“No, I have it under control,” Peter lied, “I’m not bringing anyone else into it, I can't be the reason for their deaths.”

“You won’t be, but maybe you could help prevent them by asking someone more experienced for guidance.” Ned pleaded. 

“Like who?” Peter asked, before continuing on without allowing Ned the opportunity to answer, “and don’t say Iron Man. I wouldn't even be able to get within a hundred metres of Tony Stark, nevermind close enough to ask him for help with this. There isn't anyone to help, the police would be killed by those weapons, so would any normal person.”

“It just doesn't seem fair that it’s all on you.” 

“It’s not, I chose to put myself in this position,” Peter said, it was true - he had. 

“I just wanna help, dude.”

“In that case, can I borrow some clothes?” Peter asked hopefully. “I can't go home in this, May is already gonna flip.”

“Sure, my cousin was staying last month and he left some things behind, Mom hasn’t gotten round to shipping them yet so you’re in luck.” Ned said, making a move towards his wardrobe. 

“Thanks man,” Peter said. 

“Don’t mention it, I’m your guy in the chair, remember?” Ned said, “I have to come in useful at some point.”

“You’re always useful,” Peter said instantly, “but… you’d be more useful if you want to face the wrath of May for me?” 

“Ha,” Ned muttered, “no chance in hell, that’s all on you.”

"Hey dude, thanks for this," Peter said as he tugged slightly on the shirt that he had been given, it was a weird fabric and had a bizarre logo on the chest pocket that made him sure that he never wanted to google the price of it.

"Don't mention it, and uh, you should probably hurry home, I've ignored three messages from May about your whereabouts, so you know... she's pretty pissed."

"You know, the world could open up below my feet and swallow me from existence and it would probably be a better future than what's awaiting me at home." Peter muttered.

"Morbid, but fair." Ned muttered with a nod.

"Yeah, alright then, see you at school, man." Peter said as he pulled Ned's window open.

"You know you can take the door, right?" Ned called after him as he crawled down the side of the building. "This is risky, man! You can't do that out of the suit!"

"Sorry," Peter called back once he was standing on solid ground, cupping his ears to emphasise his point, "I can't hear you!"

"Yes you can, you can hear everything, you're so full of-"

"Bye Ned!"

Peter ran off down the street, heading in the direction of his and May's homely apartment. After his Uncle had died, May had doubled her efforts to make their apartment seem as cosy as possible. In the gaps that Ben had left behind, there were now vases of flowers and photo frames full of happy memories. She would collect cute trinkets that they definitely didn't need, but still got anyways because they were better than the holes that would have been there in their place.

At first Peter hadn't understood why May had moved Ben's belongings into storage, but soon it became evident. He would catch her staring silently at his things, tears making their way down her cheeks, carving salty lines of sorrow through her makeup. It was killing her to see everything she could have - _ should have  _ \- had.

She had deserved so much more. More time, more love, more happiness, a more faithful nephew who actually let her know where he was and that he was safe and alive.

She was probably going completely out of her mind.

She was indeed going out of her mind.

When Peter opened the door to the apartment, he was met with his grief stricken Aunt, a wad of tissues in one hand and her phone in the other.

"Peter!" She shouted as she raced forward, not giving him a chance to close the door behind him. "I was so worried."

"I'm so sorry-"

He was abruptly cut off as her concern morphed into anger once she realised that he wasn't injured or harmed in any way.

"Where were you?" She demanded to know. "I have been going out of my mind here, you have no idea how scared I was."

"May I-"

"No, don't interrupt me, Peter. I know that I've gone a bit too easy on you since B- since everything happened, but I remember how rebellious you were starting to get before hand. Is that what this is? Are you finished grieving now? Are you going back to how you were before? Or is this your way of expressing that you're suffering?" May asked him, fresh tears appearing.

"No, May, I promise, this has nothing to do with Ben."

"Then what is it? I've kept quiet in the hopes that you'll come to me if you have a problem, but I check on you around ten o'clock at night, and you're never there. Never." May said, making Peter cower a little under her gaze, he hadn't realised that she still checked on him, whoops.

"I didn't mean to worry you." Peter said honestly.

"I kinda just assumed you were sneaking out to see a person, maybe you started dating, y;know?" She asked, "but now, you're skipping school, you're getting detention, your principal seems to think your grades are suffering. What is going on with you Pete?"

"I- I don't know." Peter admitted, feeling his own cheeks begin to grow damp.

"Oh, honey," May murmured, dropping her angry demeanor as she saw his tears beginning to fall, "I don't mean to be harsh, it’s just that I used to sneak out too and I need to keep you safe. You are my main priority, my job is to make sure that you're doing the best you possibly can, and it scares me to think that you might be in trouble."

"I'm not in any trouble," Peter lied.

"Then what is going on?"

"I, uh I, um took up photography?" Peter said.

"You... what?" That answer had completely blindsided her apparently. 

"Yeah, it's a hobby of mine, I'm trying to make some money on the side so I can save for college and help out."

"What kind of photography?" May asked, suddenly looking very intensely at Peter.

"What do you me- oh May, no, not like that!"

"Well, you can't blame me for worrying." May said defensively.

"No, I take pictures of Spider-Man, and sell them to news companies and stuff." Peter said.

"That's why you're out late?" May asked.

"Spider-Man is out late." Peter mumbled.

"Spider-Man is doing dangerous things and fighting criminals, I don't want you anywhere near that." May said instantly. "I can't believe you would willingly put yourself in that much danger."

"No, I don't catch him while he's stopping crime or fighting people. It's more just action shots of him swinging through the city." Peter said.

"And ditching school today?"

"Have you seen the news?" Peter asked. "I had to get pictures of that."

"That was ages ago, why are you so late?" May wasn't giving him an inch here.

"Well, my phone was lost right? So I was borrowing Ned's one, and it actually has a better zoom feature than mine did anyway, but that's besides the point. So anyways, since I was borrowing his phone, I had to return it so his Mom didn’t get mad at him for losing it."

"I texted Ned," May said, "multiple times. Did you get those messages?"

"What messages?" Peter asked, pleading ignorance. "I was at Ned's a while, his battery had died, and we were chatting for a bit. I don't even know if  _ he  _ knows you texted."

“God, Pete,” May muttered as she pulled him into a hug, “you had me so worried, why wouldn't you just tell me that you’d taken up photography?”

_ Because I haven’t, and it’s a miracle that you’re buying this because there are a million holes in my story.  _

“I don't know, it’s not a serious thing, I just- dunno.”

“Alright lecture over, it’s late and you stink.” 

“Hey!”

“I’m not apologising, it’s true.” May said. “Go shower and grab something to eat before bed.” 

“Alright,” Peter said, pulling back from the hug and heading towards the bathroom. 

“Oh and Peter?” She waited for him to turn and look at her, “no photography tonight.”

“No problem.”

“And if it’s a hobby you enjoy, it doesn't have to be ‘a serious thing’, I’m just happy if you’re happy.” 

_ How did that one work? _

Days melted together and Peter kept his head down. Spider-Man was strictly helping with robberies and petty crimes, and Peter was attending all of his classes and handing in his homework on time, he and Ned even finished building the Lego Death Star. The bags under May’s eyes slowly disappeared and Peter’s guilt weighed him down heavier than ever. 

The ferry fiasco had finally disappeared from newspapers - well except for the Bugle, they were demanding that Spider-Man pay for the damages - and everyone was moving on. Peter was trying to follow suit, he really was. It was just too hard to, The Vulture was still out there somewhere, probably creating more tech that would catch Peter, and the public, off guard. 

Peter once again had a phone in his pocket, things were returning to normal, but every night he would watch out for strange weapons on the streets. He had even pondered stretching further out than just Queens, but after a night of trying that, he was forced to accept that it would be impossible for him to operate throughout the entirety of New York. Where did he stop? How much of the world would he give himself responsibility for if he started expanding his terrain now? 

Everything was painfully boring… until he asked Liz to Homecoming.

He’d been in Calculus which had bored him beyond belief, it was a class that he would usually spend glancing at Liz and watching how she’d wrinkle her nose up adorably as she pondered a particularly challenging question, but Liz wasn't in class that day, which was odd because she had been in school. 

“Sir,” he called out, raising his hand, “can I go to the restroom please?”

“Come and get the hall pass.” 

Surprisingly, as soon as Peter left the room he saw Liz. 

“Hey, I thought you had Calculus fifth period.” He said,  _ stupid, Peter, now she knows you watch her.  _

“Yeah, I was just doing some stuff for Homecoming.” Liz said. 

“Hey, look, I- uh, I just wanted to apologise about the whole decathlon thing.” Peter said, realising that he’d never properly told her how sorry he was for ditching the team - well mostly, he was mainly glad he’d saved everyone from dying in an elevator. 

“It’s fine, really, last week decathlon was the most important thing, but then I almost died.” Liz said, looking over to him. 

“No, I just- I’m,” Peter stammered, thrown off balance by her eyes meeting his, “I just mean that it was not cool, especially be- because I like you.”

Why had he said that? If it wasn’t for her standing there, he would’ve wanted to bang his head against the wall at his own idiocy. 

“I know.”

Well that was terrifying, he couldn't stop his head from snapping to the side to look closely at her, “you do?” 

“You’re terrible at keeping secrets.” Liz replied. 

“Yeah, you’d be surprised.” Peter mumbled, why did everyone say that? He had kept Spider-Man a secret from everyone, except Ned. “I uh, gotta get to class but, um, I’d say we should hang out but I’m gonna be in detention for-”

“Uh huh.”

“-ever, but, um, I guess you already have a date to homecoming.”

“Actually I was so busy planning it, that I never really got around to that part, so…” she shook her head a little. 

“Uh, you wanna,” Peter rammed a finger into his own chest, ow, that had hurt, “go with me?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“Really? I mean great, cool.” 

“Cool.”

“I’m actually going that way.” Peter mumbled fiddling with the hall pass in his hands as he nervously walked past Liz.

He waited until he was around the corner, and after a quick glance backwards to make sure that she wasn’t following him, he leapt into the air. He had a date! A date with the girl he had been crushing on for the longest time, he needed to find Ned and tell him. Well, really he needed to get back to class but that would mean walking back the way and passing Liz again and then she would know that he was an idiot. Who was he kidding? She knew he was an idiot, but she still agreed to go to Homecoming with him. 

He needed a suit. 

Homecoming was that evening and he didn't have a suit!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your kind words and kudos, you're all amazing!!!


	6. homecoming

“What?” Ned’s voice was loud and drew the attention of the teacher who predictably shushed them. 

“I know right?” Peter whispered. “I can’t believe it either.”

“You know what this means right?” Ned asked him in a slightly quieter voice that was still too loud to go unnoticed. 

“I’m going to Homecoming with Liz?” Peter answered unsurely. 

“No, dude, it means that she likes you back.” Ned said rolling his eyes. 

“I don't know, man.” Peter muttered, trying to squash down the hope that blossomed within him. “She probably only agreed because Homecoming is tonight and she didn't have a date already, I mean better to go with a loser than alone right?”

“Dude, this is Midtown, we’re all nerds and losers.” Ned said. 

“Yeah, but there’s a scale, right? And me and you? We’re at the bottom.” 

“That’s beside the point,” Ned said shaking his head, “back to your earlier point, it’s actually better to go alone than with a loser. Which means Liz doesn't think you’re a loser - ergo, she might like you back. It might not be a desperation or pity date.”

“Dude.” Peter muttered with a grin.

“Boys, last warning, this is silent study time.” The teacher said speaking up. “I’m sure your conversation can wait ten minutes until the bell rings.”

"Sorry, Sir," Peter mumbled.

He forced his eyes back to the page in front of him, the words blurring together as his mind drifted. He couldn't focus on studying at a time like this, didn't the teacher understand that he had so much more important things on his mind? There were things outside studying that he cared about, why couldn’t the teacher realise that?

He didn't have a suit to take Liz to homecoming in, The Vulture was in an unknown location, he had a date with his crush, weapons were flooding the streets of New York and he wasn’t doing anything to stop it, and Liz might actually like him back.

There was so much going on, Peter Parker problems, Spider-Man problems… all needing solved and yet his teacher expected him to silently focus on US History. 

_Bringgggg_

Finally! 

“Hey, Ned, I’ll text you later!” Peter called as he ran towards the door. 

“Good luck, dude, see you later.”

And so, Peter sprinted. As though there was a robbery needing stopped, or another ferry sinking, or perhaps a house fire that he needed to rescue people from. Except the problem he was running towards this time was a purely personal one, it had been a long time since he’d had one of those, it felt like all of his time was dedicated to saving the people of Queens.

When he reached the apartment, he flung the door open, his hearing picking up on the grinding sound of the handle carving its imprint into the wall. Oops, he was going to be in trouble once May noticed that one. 

“May!” He shouted, running into the kitchen and skidding in his socks to see her through the open archway, she was perusing books and appeared to get a shock at his arrival. How had she not heard the door banging open? “I need your help!”

“What’s wrong?” She jumped into action instantly, ready to solve any problem he threw at her. 

“I got a date to Homecoming.”

“Oh my God!” She screamed as she raced forward to hug him, she squeezed tightly and then pulled back, “wait, you said you weren’t going to go to Homecoming?” 

“I wasn’t, but then I saw Liz sorting things out in the corridor earlier and-”

“You asked Liz?” May asked him. 

“Yeah, why?” 

“I’m so proud of you, baby, I know you like her, that must have taken a lot of guts to do.” May said ruffling his hair. 

“How did you know?” Peter asked as he shrugged his way out from the gesture and tried to fix his hair. It was unfair, how come everyone knew about his crush? He thought he was good at hiding things, no one knew about Spider-Man at least.

“Come on, Pete, it was obvious.” May said, “you talk about her a lot. So, when is this dance?”

“Uh, tonight?” 

May blinked and stared at him for a moment, “tonight?”

“Yeah, so, uh, I kinda need a suit?” 

“Alright, alright,” May muttered as though she was gathering herself together, “right, I’m sure there’s something in the back of the closet you can wear.”

The back of the closet - where May had folded all of Ben’s old clothes and stored them.

Together they went through and gently pulled all the clothes out, he watched as May smiled at some of the items and was glad to see that for once she wasn't looking at them in sorrow. 

“Right, this was his when he graduated the Academy,” May said, holding up a crisp suit. 

“I don't know May,” Peter mumbled reached out as though to touch the fabric, not quite being able to follow through with the action, his finger hovered in the air near it before he pulled back, “I’m clumsy, I don't want to ruin anything that belonged to Ben. these things are worth more than just money.”

“Ben would have wanted you to have them, Sweetie,” May said running one of her hands through his curls, “he used to talk about how excited he was to dress you up in your first suit for your school dance and teach you how to tie a tie.”

“He did?” Peter asked. 

“Of course he did, he was so proud of you all the time,” May said, “honestly, all he would talk about was all the amazing things you would do in the future. His police friends all knew every detail of your life because he couldn't stop bragging about you at work.” 

“May, stop.” Peter mumbled, his cheeks flaming bright red. 

“‘That kid is gonna be better than all of us’, that’s what he would say.” May said. “So, don't you dare think you don't belong in his suit, he was dreaming of this day, and just because he’s not here anymore, doesn't mean it can't happen.” 

“Alright,” Peter said quietly, “I’ll wear it.”

“Providing it fits.” May said quickly as she shoved the suit into his arms, “now go shower and get dressed.”

Not too long after that, Peter had successfully showered and was pleased to find that the suit was a perfect fit, and he stood in front of the mirror as he held the tie up in front of himself and wondered how the hell he was meant to make the weird silky material form a neat knot; it was so bizarre that it was meant to hold a shape. It seemed like it would just slide against itself and fall apart.

"Uh, May?" He called, running out of his room, his Uncle's tie clasped in one of his hands. "May?"

"What's up- oh my God, Peter you look so beautiful!"

"May," he whined, "you can't call me beautiful."

"I can and I will, look at you, you're my handsome little man."

"Little man? May, come on, you're killing me here." Peter complained.

"What can I say?" She said with a shrug.

"You could say anything, like how manly I am, and how handsome and striking I look, maybe mention how this suit would make a body builder jealous of my physique." Peter complained.

May had the audacity to laugh at him for saying that... seriously, laugh!

"May, come on!"

"Alright, alright, you are a most beautiful and handsome young man." May said placatingly, "Liz is lucky to be going to the dance with you."

"It'll do," Peter mumbled, accepting the compliment as he knew it was the best he was going to get.

"Right, now," she said, "what were you screaming about before you came through here?"

"Well-" Peter held up the tie, "- I don't know how to tie a tie."

"Oh," May blinked at the tie, "I don't know how to either."

Panic struck at Peter, like a piercing bullet in his stomach, "wait what? What am I going to do?"

"It's all right, come here," May said, pulling out one of the chairs at the dining table and setting up her laptop in front of him, "we can find a tutorial online, there's one for everything nowadays. Did you know that kids now don't even have to work out how to use makeup themselves? They can literally press a few buttons and find out how to do professional grade makeup art in seconds."

"They probably still have to practice," Peter mumbled.

"Well, yeah, but the point is that they miss out on the rite of passage that every teen should go through," May complained.

"You sound like such a grumpy boomer," Peter said rolling his eyes, "just because you missed that privilege doesn’t mean everyone should."

"What did you just call me?" May asked.

"A boomer."

"Alright _little guy,_ that's fighting talk." may said with a smirk, "maybe I should come inside when I drop you off at Liz's and meet her parents, I kinda want to know what kind of people I'm leaving you with."

"May no..." Peter mumbled, turning to stare at her in horror. "You wouldn't."

"Hmmm, it's tempting," May said, "but no, don't worry kiddo, I won't do that to you. now, come on, follow the tutorial."

"Alright, alright, don't scare me like that."

Peter tried his best, he really did, but it seemed like no matter how many times he followed the tutorial the tie either slid out of shape or looked like a wonky mess.

"It's not working," he said with a groan, "I can't do it."

"You can, come on, I've been following along too, you're doing it right, you're just not tying it tight enough. Are you going to Homecoming or are you an edgy middle schooler trying to fit in with the cool kids?”

"Wow." Peter muttered, barely casting a glance in her direction.

"Am I wrong?"

"Yeah, loose ties are so five years ago," Peter told her, "it's all about the thin ones with tight knots."

"You say this, but you don’t go to a school that has a set uniform policy anymore." May said.

"And I thank God every day for such a thing." Peter said sarcastically.

"Stop getting distracted." May said, shaking her head, "try again."

" _Tie_ again." Peter mumbled, before snickering to himself a little, that pun had been funny even if May had only raised her eyebrows at him and pointed a finger at the screen where the tutorial was playing on repeat.

After about fifty million attempts - he may have been exaggerating - Peter finally got to grips with it.

"It's perfect." He murmured as he stared at it in wonder.

"It is, I'm so proud of you Sweetie," May said.

"I bet I could do it again, I think I've got the hang of this, it's really not so hard." Peter said.

"No!" May yelled before coughing a little and giving him an apologetic look, "sorry, I just mean there's no need to redo it, you did such a great job.”

“You don’t believe I can, do you?” Peter asked narrowing his eyes.

“Nope, now come on, get your things together, I still have to teach you how to dance and you don’t want to be late.” May said after closing the tie tutorial and opening a playlist of music, "right, now, follow me."

Peter watched her movements and wondered where exactly she had learned to dance, "uh, I think these moves are a little outdated." 

"Excuse you, the robot never goes out of date."

"Oh, is that what you were doing?" Peter asked, arching a brow at her. 

"Why you cheeky little-" May darted forward grabbing him by the hands and swinging him around, "I don't know where you got all of this sass from."

Peter barked out a laugh, "you're gonna mess up my hair!" 

"No chance, you've used so much gel, I don't even know if the shower's going to manage to move a single strand out of place tonight," May teased. 

"There-" Peter said, pointing at her, "-right there, that's where I got my sass from."

"Well, I suppose that's a compliment." May said with a shrug. “Now, stop messing around and dance with me, you twerp.”

The drive to Liz's house was tense, not because there was anything wrong of course, but because Peter was pent up with nervous energy and every time May tried to say something to him, he would be so distracted that he'd barely hear her question and would end up muttering an undignified 'huh?' and making her repeat whatever it was she had said before replying to her in one or two words. 

"Peter, you're a good kid, me and Ben did a great job in raising you - if I do say so myself - which means you're going to be a perfect gentleman, you're going to charm her and her parents, and you're going to have a lovely night with the girl you've been adoring for months." May said as she pulled up at the curb in front of Liz's house.

“It’s game day,” May said gently to him, perhaps sensing how nervous he was, “so, what’s the plan?”

“Open the door for her,” Peter parroted back her earlier instructions that had been rattled off amongst a flurry of hugs and smiles and declarations of pride. 

“Mhm.”

“Tell her she looks nice, but not too much because that’s… creepy.” That one he didn’t understand fully, why would it be bad for him to tell her so looked nice? What was too much? How could it become too much? Why was it creepy?

“Don’t be creepy.” May confirmed without elaborating on what was creepy. Was he creepy? How could he not be creepy if he as a person was already creepy? 

“No, and uh, when I dance with her, I’m putting my hands on her hips,” Peter finished, feeling considerably more confident that he had when they had started to drive to Liz’s house, “I got this.”

Using the newfound confidence he jumped out of the car, muttered a quick ‘love you’ to May, and walked up the intimidating walkway to the front door, he nervously clutched a corsage in his hands, his enhanced hearing picking up on the slight cracking of the plastic, he forced himself to relax. He didn't want to mess up the corsage before he could give it to her, she deserved the beautiful, pristine _thing_ as it was. Not that he really understood what it was - but movies and May had decreed it a tradition for people to give to their partners and apparently Peter was buying into that tradition now. 

With a deep breath, he pressed the doorbell. 

It rang out loud and clear, and he could only hope that maybe someone inside was creating so much noise that they didn't hear the door. No. that would potentially be worse than him messing things up, he couldn't admit to being stood up for Homecoming. 

He could do this, as he told May… _I got this._

The door opened.

He didn't got this. He didn't got anything. He was so far from ever ‘gotting’ anything in his life. Oh god, oh heck, oh no. 

His mouth instantly dried up as adrenaline and panic coursed through his veins, he could hear his heart pounding louder than it ever had before but the volume of that was nothing compared to the way his Spidey-Sense started to _screech_ at him. It was yelling at him to run, begging him to either fight or get the hell out of dodge.

It was a disaster. 

Of all the people to open the door, why did it have to be him? Why couldn't Peter just have this one night to be a teenager? 

“You must be Peter.” The man Peter had seen donning The Vulture wings on the ferry said with a hard look in his eyes, not the hard look Peter had seen on the ferry of a man who was preparing to squash him like his namesake, but the look of a man who was ready to intimidate the boy taking his daughter to Homecoming. 

All words seemed to disappear from Peter’s mind and he barely managed to muster up the small. “Yeah,” that he choked out. Hopefully he just looked like a nervous kid arriving to take his date to a dance, not a secret vigilante who had just knocked on a bad guy’s door by accident. 

“I’m Liz’s dad,” The Vulture informed him, holding his hand out for Peter to take, “put ‘er there.”

_Get out! Now! It’s a trap!_ His Spidey-Senses yelled, but he couldn't do that. He took hold of the man’s hand, surprised to find that it just felt like a normal hand, there wasn't anything cold or murderous about the handshake. It was like he was shaking his date’s dad’s hand - which he was, that dad just happened to also be a crazed weapons dealer. 

“Hell of a grip,” he muttered, oh right, Peter needed to be careful. He was pulled inside by the hand that was still trapped in The Vulture’s grip, “come inside here, come on.”

Well, he didn't know what to do. Did he pretend that he wasn’t aware of The Vulture’s whereabouts for a night? Did he continue his life as normal and deal with it tomorrow? That was tempting, it wasn't like there was much he could do without hurting Liz or revealing himself, and really how much trouble would the guy get into in one night? Hopefully, he’d spend the night relaxing with his wife and waiting for his daughter to return home at the end of the evening. 

The door was closed behind him. 

It was too late to back out, Peter was just going to have to see this one through and hope that he didn’t put anyone else at risk because he couldn’t bear that thought.,

Against his better judgement, he slowly walking into the house, each step was more effort than the last and the seemingly normal furniture jeered at him; _sucker, you really thought something could go well for you, didn’t you?_ It seemed to say, and the clatter of dishes in the kitchen sounded strangely like the plates were laughing at him. 

“Hi Peter!” He whirled around to come face to face with a happy looking woman, she was pretty and made him think of an older more mature Liz, they had the same smile - it must be her mum. “You look very handsome.”

_Do you know what your husband does when he’s not home?_ Peter wanted to ask, but instead he mumbled a small, “thank you,” and bit his tongue against the questions and accusations that threatened to fall from his lips. 

“You got his name right?” Liz’s mom asked quietly. 

“Freddie?” 

“Peter.” 

“Peter. Peter.” The Vulture muttered quickly as though committing it to memory. 

That was the kind of joking behaviour that Peter’s Uncle would pull, it was so painfully familiar and yet completely alien coming from a man who had rammed a guy’s head into a van and smiled while doing it. How could he seamlessly switch between both of his personalities? 

“I’m gonna go get Liz.” 

“Alright.” Peter mumbled, he could practically hear May scolding him and telling him to talk clearly, he was trying to make a good impression. 

That left him alone with The Vulture. 

Was he sweating? He felt like he was sweating, he was probably sweating. 

“You alright there, Pete?” 

_Don't call me Pete._ “Yeah.” 

“Because you look-” he gestured with a rather large and sharp knife, “-pale. You want something to drink, like a bourbon, or a scotch, something like that?”

“I’m not old enough to drink,” Peter said shaking his head, his voice was steadier than he had expected it to be, that was nice.

The Vulture grinned and pointed the knife at him briefly, “that’s the right answer,” his gaze shifted to behind Peter and he let out a breath, “wow! Wow, wow, wow do you look beautiful!”

Peter turned, ignoring every instinct that was screaming at him not to turn his back on his enemy, to see Liz walking into the room.

“Please don’t embarrass me dad,” Liz said as she stroked her dress nervously and avoided Peter’s gaze until she was right next to him, he could smell her intoxicating perfume wafting through the air and swirling around him.

“Doesn’t she Pete?” The Vulture asked, ignoring his daughter’s request.

_Don’t call me Pete._

“Yeah,” Peter choked out, hoping that he didn’t look as panicked as he felt, “you look really good.”

It seemed that Liz had mistaken his panic for typical Homecoming date nerves and gave him a small smile.

“Once again, that’s the right answer.” The Vulture said, it was strange, Peter was struggling to connect the two in his mind. After all, this man in front of him didn’t seem like the type to run an underground weapons ring. Although, the amount of knife waving he was doing did help to remind Peter of the danger he was in.

“Is that a corsage?” Liz asked, trying to break up the building tension.

Peter handed it to her without looking, refusing to take his eyes off The Vulture again, he could barely think straight past the screaming of his Spidey-Sense. He did feel a little guilty when he heard her small, “thanks,” after all, he had asked her to Homecoming, the least he could do was be a decent date.

“Well, hey, I’m your chauffeur so let’s get this show on the road.” The Vulture said, Peter’s heart dropped, he was going to be stuck in the car with the bad guy. That was a nightmare, he was just holding onto the fact that the man wouldn’t do anything that would risk his daughter’s wellbeing… hopefully.

“No, no, no,” Liz’s mom said jumping in, Peter looked to her hopefully, was she going to offer to drive them and save him? It turned out that he was about to be let down severly, “we have to take some pics, babe!”

“Alright,” The Vulture said with a smile as he stood back while Liz’s mom demanded different poses.

It dragged. Peter tried his best to look at the camera while also keeping The Vulture in his peripheral vision and hoping that it would be over soon. He couldn’t bear how his enemy was standing there, grinning with pride, acting like a _dad._

“Sir, you don’t have to drive us.” Peter said quickly, mentally planning a call to May and hoping she wouldn’t be too far away to turn around and pick them up.

“Nah, nah,” The Vulture said, “it’s not a big deal. I’m going out of town, it’s on my way.”

“He’s always coming and going.” Liz’s mom said, completely unaware of what her husband was actually doing when he was going.

Peter nervously stood there as Liz hugged her mom, trying to ignore the compliments that she whispered to her daughter and hoping that his cheeks hadn’t lit up a brilliant red.

“See you in a couple of days,” The Vulture said to his wife.

A couple of days. How many weapons would he make in that time? How many people’s futures would be stolen from them? How much destruction could be caused?

Could Peter really stand back and let that happen?

“Come on Pedro,” The Vulture said, guiding Peter out of the house.

“Bye, Peter, have fun.” Liz’s mom said, as though trying to prove to him that she knew his name.

“I will.” Peter said.

The drive felt long, and the silence was thick, Peter was sure that if he tried, he would be able to cut it with a knife. He needed a plan, one that stopped The Vulture, didn’t hurt Liz, and allowed him to retain his secret identity.

“What are you gonna do, Pete?” The Vulture asked suddenly making Peter jump slightly in his seat, he was too on edge, everything was getting to him.

“What?” _He doesn’t know, he can’t, there’s no way…_

“When you graduate, what do you think you’ll do?”

_Good question._

“Oh, I don’t know,” Peter admitted.

“Don’t grill him dad,” Liz said, jumping to his defence without taking her eyes off her phone.

“Just saying, y’know, all you guys who go to that school, you pretty much have your life planned out right?”

“Yeah, no, I’m just a sophomore.” Peter said quickly.

“Peter actually knows Spider-Man.” Liz said, jumping in to try and save him but unknowingly throwing him in the deep end.

“Really? Spider-Man?” The Vulture asked with far too much curiosity. “Wow. What’s he like?”

“Yeah, he’s nice,” Peter said quickly, “nice man, solid dude.”

“Hm.” The Vulture hummed, appearing to be deep in thought, did he know?

“Look,” Liz said leaning over to show Peter a picture of the two of them that her mom had taken, normally Peter would be enchanted by her close presence but he was too worried to be affected this time, “how cute?”

“Oh.” Peter said with a small laugh that he hoped didn’t sound forced.

“I’ve seen you around right?” The Vulture suddenly asked, “I mean, somewhere? We’ve- I mean have we ever? Because the voice…”

Peter’s heart started to thud in his chest, he knew. He knew everything. Peter was dead.

“He does academic decathlon with me,” Liz said, unknowingly throwing a lifesaver, “and he was at my party.”

“Ah,” The Vulture muttered, “it was a great party.”

“Great,” Peter agreed, “beautiful house, and a lot of windows.”

“You were there for like two seconds,” Liz said with a grin.

“That was-” Peter could see The Vulture’s gaze jump to look at him through the window with increased intensity, “I was there longer than two seconds.”

“You disappeared.”

“No.” Peter said, almost pleading, he could see the pieces of the puzzle coming together in The Vulture’s mind. “No, I did not disappear.”

This kid who had a very similar voice to Spider-Man had coincidentally left Liz’s party around the time said arachnid hero was fighting weapons salesmen and also had ties to the hero. It was all pretty easy to connect.

“Yes, you did.” Liz repeated, “like you always do, like you did in DC too.”

And there it was… the final piece of the puzzle that The Vulture needed to realise that he was driving the annoying red and blue nuisance around.

“That’s terrible, what happened down there in DC though, were you scared?” The Vulture asked, his question a trap that Peter found himself walking straight into, “I’ll bet you were glad when your old pal Spider-Man showed up in the elevator though, huh?”

He glanced at Liz, he couldn’t lie to her father, not when she was sitting right there, which meant he was going to solidify his suspicions.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t actually go up. I saw it all from the ground.”

“Yeah,” Liz agreed.

“Very lucky he was there that day.” The Vulture said quietly.

_I saved your daughter’s life, don’t end mine._

“Good old Spider-Man.”

He knew. Peter was sure of it.

By the time they pulled up at the school Peter was covered in a thin layer of sweat, his heart was racing, and he had mentally written his will five times over.

“Here we are. End of the line.” The Vulture announced.

“Thanks dad,” Liz said as though nothing was wrong.

“You head in there gumdrop, I’m just gonna give Peter the “dad” talk.” The Vulture said, this was it, this was where Peter died.

“Don’t let him intimidate you,” Liz said with a gentle smile as she kissed her dad’s cheek, muttered a quick, “have a safe flight,” and climbed out the car to leave Peter alone with the man whose business he’d messed around with so much.

They sat in silence for a moment as Liz ran forward and hugged her friends, the air filling with squeals and exclamations of joy and compliments.

“Does she know?” The Vulture asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Know what?” Peter asked, his lips numb with panic, he felt like he was having an out of body experience, like he was watching a train wreck about to happen with no way to stop it.

“So she doesn’t, good, close to the vest. I admire that, I got a few secrets of my own.” He said. “Of all the reasons I didn’t want my daughter to date…”

Peter remained quiet, he wouldn’t confirm or deny anything until he knew for sure what Liz’s father was talking about.

“Peter,” The Vulture continued, “nothing is more important than family. You saved my daughter’s life; I could never forget something like that. So, I’m going to give you one chance, are you ready? You walk through those doors, you forget any of this ever happened, and you don’t ever, _ever_ interfere with my business again, ‘cause if you do… I’ll kill you and everybody you love. I’ll kill you dead, that’s what I’ll do to protect my family, Pete. Do you understand?”

Peter swallowed, had his mouth always been so dry? He nodded a little, it could have been explained away as a nervous tic if The Vulture ever tried to use it as evidence against him.

“Hey,” The Vulture said, “I just saved your life, now what do you say?”

Was he serious?

“Thank you.” Peter spat the words out through clenched teeth, they left a bitter taste on his tongue.

“You’re welcome. Now, you go on in there and you show my daughter a good time, ok? Just, not too good.”

Peter silently slipped The Vulture’s own phone under the seat as he climbed out of the car. At least it wasn’t his own he was planting this time, he was just returning a missing belonging, that was all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on tumblr [@ephemeralstark](https://ephemeralstark.tumblr.com/) and let me know what you thought if you'd like? :D 
> 
> if you enjoyed this, maybe you'll like some of my other fics! why not check them out?


	7. homecoming disasters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peter gets... hurt... a lot.

Peter closed the car door and watched as The Vulture drove away, doubts playing in his mind as he did so, should he have planted the phone? He was meant to be having a good night with Liz and his friends, he wasn’t supposed to be considering following his date’s father wherever it was he was going.

He just needed to ignore his screaming Spidey-Senses and walk inside.

So, he tried to, he placed one foot in front of the other and tried not to pay attention to the way his knees shook and his fingers trembled. Liz’s father had threatened to kill him, _him,_ Peter Parker. It wasn’t like they had met while Peter was out in his suit and The Vulture had threatened to hurt Spider-Man, no, he had very specifically threatened a _kid_ in the back of his car. A kid that was only trying to have a good time.

_I came out to have a good time and honestly, I’m feeling so attacked right now,_ his mind offered up, with its usual inappropriate timing.

Slowly he walked into the school, his ears ringing with barely concealed panic and a small part of him noticed that people were shooting him anxious glances; perhaps taking in his deathly pallor and the sheen of sweat, or maybe they had concerns about the vague look on his face. Whatever it was they were definitely giving him a wide berth. 

His footsteps echoed in his ears and the music filtering through the doors of the hall sounded distorted and sinister, as though it was warning him that something bad was looming. Each step felt like his feet were made from lead, his heart thudded a bleak rhythm in his chest, but he couldn’t stop moving forward. 

He could see Ned waving excitedly at him, and there was MJ standing beside him and flipping him off – a sight so familiar that his heart jolted and caused him physical pain. How could everything be so normal and yet disastrous at the same time? A small flicker of anger sparked, how dare The Vulture try and ruin everything? How dare he put those guns on the streets that his friends walked every day? How could he do it knowing his own _daughter_ could be harmed by one of them? But then… how could Peter do anything when his life was at risk? If he died then there was one less person looking out for the little guy.

He walked into the hall.

Music, laughter, and flashing lights assaulted his already haywire senses as though they were something from a gaudy nightmare. He made his way over to Liz who was dancing with her friends, she turned and saw him. Her smile glinted in the lights which was something that would have normally made his heart stutter and his palms go clammy, but after learning who her father was, Peter couldn’t help but think it was akin to the grin of a shark.

“Hey, what did he say to you?” She asked, obviously realising that something was up.

_He threatened to kill me,_ Peter wanted to say, but instead what came out was, “I’ve got to go.”

She looked… she looked sad? Could it be that she had been looking forward to spending Homecoming with _him_? That she had liked him back? Not that it really mattered, after he left to hunt down her father, she would either never forgive him for standing her up or know that he was Spider-Man and hate him forever.

“I’m- I’m sorry,” he said, hoping that she would see how much he really meant it, “you don’t deserve this.”

Maybe it was selfish, but he couldn’t bear to wait around and hear her heartbroken reply, so he ran. He told himself that he was running because he needed to catch The Vulture before he left the city but a small part of him knew that he was running from whatever Liz would have said.

He sprinted down a darkened corridor towards his locker, for once luck was on his side as he’d left his Spider-Man suit and web shooters hidden under the lockers after replacing the web fluid and fixing his suit with fabric he had borrowed – stolen – from the drama department. He’d meant to take it home but had forgotten in the excitement of Liz agreeing to go to the dance with him.

After a quick glance around to make sure the corridor was empty he lifted the lockers with one hand and grabbed his suit and web fluid from the dusty hiding space underneath – it was a safer storage spot than inside his locker as the school was committed to their random spot checks, after the Adderall problem last year, the faculty were determined to only be in the headlines for positive reasons.

He changed quickly, in the middle of the corridor, listening carefully to make sure no one was approaching and then – with a silent apology to his Uncle – he threw Ben’s suit under the locker and started to run again.

Peter was just pulling his web shooters on as he sprinted out a side door, when a blast hit him. It felt like what he imagined running into an electric fence would and his web shooters flew out his hands as he was thrown through the air.

“He gave you a choice,” a voice said as Peter tried to get his bearings, “you chose wrong.”

“What the hell?” Peter asked. Did this guy know his identity too? Had The Vulture given it up so easily? If so, who else had he told?

“What’s with the crappy costume?” The guy asked. That hurt, just because it was homemade and had been heavily repaired, didn’t mean it was crappy.

He didn’t wait for an answer, instead he jolted the gun and it crackled with energy as it came to life, Peter couldn’t be hit by that – not again. It _hurt_. He needed his web shooters, with a deep breath and a moment to gather his energy together, he jumped to his feet and sprinted across the parking lot to grab them.

He heard the crack of the punchy-gun-thing hitting something and for a split second he thought it had been him and felt phantom pain flare up across his back, that was until he realised the man had punched the school bus and he felt the very real pain of that hitting him.

The force pushed him through the air, until his journey was stopped by another school bus, that one was stationary and ended up being left with a Peter shaped dent in the side. The school was going to have questions about that in the morning.

“I wasn’t sure about this thing at first,” the guy said, “but… damn.”

Peter forced himself back to his feet, his head was spinning from the repeated impact, and as he straightened up, he was met with a punch directly to the face… ow. He was pretty sure his nose had been broken from that impact. He was thrown through the front window of the school bus, his shoulders hitting against every seat as he flew up the aisle. He landed at the rear of the bus, flat on his back and staring up at the wads of chewing gum that had been stuck to the underside of the back seat.

“Oh, gross.”

He didn’t have long to worry about the disgusting gum, as the bus started to roll and he was thrown around like a sack of potatoes, glass cutting into him through his suit. He really needed to work out a way to make it cut proof… or something.

He shoved the back doors open and spilled out onto the tarmac, coughing as he tried to catch his breath. _C’mon Peter, you’ve fought worse than this guy._

“Why did he send you here?” Peter asked, afraid that he already knew the answer.

“Guess you’ll never find out.” The guy said as he prepared the weapon once more, yeah, Peter’s suspicion was correct.

He closed his eyes and braced himself for the impact, after all the times he had silently apologised to May for getting into dangerous situations, this was the one time he wouldn’t walk away. Except… he opened his eyes – nothing had hit him.

Peter had to blink for a moment as he took in the sight before him, the weapon was still poised to hit him, but had been stopped by none other than Ned. Obviously, his friend had realised that something was up as Peter had sprinted away from Liz, how could he not? After all, Peter had been gushing about her all year, he wouldn’t ditch her at Homecoming if it hadn’t been for something important.

He could have cried at the sight of Ned holding onto one of the web shooters with both hands, a string of web glistening in the streetlights that lit up the parking lot as it held the weapon in place.

“Nice shot!” Peter cheered.

Of course, Ned was no match for the guy so Peter took full advantage of his distraction to leap up from the ground and drag the weapon from his grasp and as such the web shooter also came soaring out of Ned’s shell shocked grasp and into Peter’s own hands.

With practiced ease, he slipped it on over his wrist and shot at The Vulture’s henchman, causing him to be the one to be forced through the air, until he collided with a school bus and ended up stuck to it.

“Yes!” Peter shouted, and then he raced towards Ned who still appeared to be in a state of shock. “Ned, The Vulture guy, the guy with the wings, he’s Liz’s dad!”

“What?” Ned asked.

“I know, I have to follow him!” Peter said. “I need you to get to a computer and track that phone I found, it was his phone, and I’ve planted it in his car!”

“You planted his own phone?” Ned asked.

“It won’t look out of place; he’ll just think it’s been there the entire time it’s been missing.” Peter said quickly. “Now, computer? Please?”

“Are you gonna be ok?” Ned asked.

“Just hurry, ok? Before he leaves town.” Peter replied ignoring the question, as he really didn’t know how to answer. There was every chance he wouldn’t walk away from this fight.

The Vulture had a lot that Peter didn’t, he had technology and experience whereas Spider-Man was very much a neighbourhood hero, he was used to robberies and petty crimes, he wasn’t used to _real_ fights. He shook his head and tried his best not to focus on that, Liz’s father had a head start and Peter needed to catch up. He wasn’t going to get very far on foot, not when The Vulture was in a car. Of course, that meant he was going to have to do something that Spider-Man would greatly disapprove of – steal a car.

The opportunity presented itself faster than he thought it would, Flash was driving towards the school in a very fancy looking car. Peter clambered up a streetlight and with practiced poise he leapt forward, throwing himself towards the car and he landed on the bonnet.

“I need your car,” he said, deepening his voice.

“Sir, technically this is my dad’s car, sir, so I can’t-”

“Get out the car!” Peter shouted, feeling a twang of guilt as he did so.

Flash jumped at the demand, obviously not expecting his favourite superhero to be so abrupt. His date was already climbing out the car, shooting anxious glances at Peter as he did so.

“Now!” Peter repeated.

Flash finally complied and Peter jumped into the driver’s seat and slammed his foot on the accelerator, he quickly realised that he wasn’t a very good driver when he hit a bike rack and sent them all flying. His advanced hearing picked up on a small whimper, _sorry Flash, hopefully that’s the only scratch this car will have when I return it to you._

Peter zoomed along the road, other drivers honking at him for his poor driving skills and lack of headlights. He fished his phone out of his suit’s pocket and dialled Ned, breaking yet another law. Spider-Man was really doing his own thing and damning the consequences today.

“Hello, Ned? Hey, can you hear me?” Peter asked.

“Go for Ned.”

_Thank God._

“Hey, right, can you track that phone for me please?” Peter asked.

“Yeah, two seconds,” Ned said, “right, ok, he just passed the GameStop on Jackson Avenue.”

“Great, hey, where are the headlights on this thing?” Peter asked as he skidded all over the road. “I’m in Flash’s car.”

“I’ll pull the spec,” Ned said, and Peter heard a scooting sound. Where was he?

“Alright, you’re on speakerphone.” Peter informed him.

“You stole Flash’s car?” Ned asked as he typed away. “Awesome.”

“Yeah, it’s awesome,” Peter muttered as his arms went numb with panic as he almost collided with the side of a bus. “Get out of the way!”

“Peter are you ok?” Ned asked quickly, possibly picking up on the fear and the squealing of tires.

“Yeah, I’ve just never driven a car before,” Peter admitted, “well, only with May, in parking lots. So, this is a huge step up. How are we getting on with those headlights?”

“Oh, there should be a round knob to the left of the steering wheel, turn it clockwise.” Ned instructed.

“Round knob to the left, ok,” the lights suddenly turned on, that was one less worry for him, “where’s The Vulture now?”

“Uh, he stopped in an old industrial park in Brooklyn.” Ned said.

“What?” Peter asked. “That makes no sense, I thought he said he was going out of town.”

Was it a trap? It didn’t matter, he needed to catch him, he was planning something. Peter knew it, there was something nagging at him, something important that he was missing.

“Slow down a little, you’re getting close.” Ned said. “It’s on your right.”

“What?”

“Turn right! Turn right!” Ned shouted.

Peter panicked and shot a web, bracing himself in the car as it was pulled around suddenly. The car hit the curb, and with the speed it was travelling, it ended up being pulled onto its side. Sparks flew into the air around him and Peter was sure that he was going to be killed in a car accident as it skidded towards a solid tree that looked as though it was going to hit right where he was.

Thankfully the car stopped just before it hit the tree and fell back onto its wheels.

_Sorry, Flash._

“Peter?” Ned asked. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah.” Peter answered a little breathlessly. “I’m going to stop him.”

“It’s been an honour Spider-Man.”

Peter ran around the edges of the industrial park, sticking in close to the shadows, he could see The Vulture’s car sitting there but he wasn’t in it. There was however a heartbeat, just one, he was alone in the warehouse – no back up, he hadn’t expected anyone to follow. What could he possibly be doing in there? Peter made his way to the side of the warehouse and carefully climbed up onto the roof, there was a sunlight on it, he crept along towards it, careful not to alert The Vulture to his arrival with his footsteps.

With a great deal of caution, he prised the window open and using his webs he lowered himself down.

The first thing he noticed was that he was in The Vulture’s lair, after all that time hunting it down and thinking that it had been in Maryland, really it had been right there in Brooklyn. He was surrounded by computer screens with plane schematics on them.

Huh.

Catching a plane?

He was literally going to catch one, he was planning to hijack an actual plane, and not just any plane by the looks of it. One of the screens appeared to be showing live footage from the Avengers tower where a plane was being loaded up.

Peter suddenly realised what had been nagging in his mind.

He could have slapped himself – of course! Tony Stark had sold his tower. It had been all over the news. The Bugle had even written a piece about the environmental impact that his plane would cause to move everything and how he should have used a van like any normal person. The Vulture was going to be hijacking Tony Stark’s plane. One that would be filled with incredibly valuable and rare items. Things that could destroy the world if they ended up in the wrong hands, and Peter was fairly sure that The Vulture’s hands were most definitely not the right ones.

This was bad.

This was really bad.

Peter took in the rest of the warehouse and paused when he saw The Vulture’s metal wings sitting on a table. He fought the urge to tamper with them as he heard a noise come from further inside the warehouse that he couldn’t ignore, he needed to investigate.

He swung through the abandoned warehouse, trying to make as little noise as he could as he scoured the dark shadowed areas for The Vulture’s cold eyes and humourless smile.

It turned out The Vulture wasn’t hiding anywhere in the shadows, instead he was standing at a well-lit desk, his back to Peter as he let go of his webbing and landed gently on the concrete ground.

“Hey!” He couldn’t help but shout, maybe that was a mistake – he lost the element of surprise, but he couldn’t help but alert his enemy to the fact that the henchman hadn’t managed to stop him. “Surprised?”

A tool clattered against the table as The Vulture placed it down and wiped his hands on an old rag, “oh, hey Pete, I didn’t hear you come in,” he said as though Peter was late to an appointment.

That was infuriating.

“It’s over, I’ve got you.” Peter said, trying to hide his wince, that had been badly worded. _I’ve got you,_ really? That was pathetic, he wanted to bang his head against a wall and demand a do over.

“You know, I gotta tell you Pete,” The Vulture said as he pulled his jacket on, “I really, really admire your grit. I can see why Liz likes you. I do, when you first came to the house, I wasn’t sure, I thought ‘really?’ but I get it now.”

_She does like me!_ Peter mentally celebrated, before checking himself in his mind. It wasn’t the time or the place to be celebrating the fact that his crush actually _liked_ him, not when her father had threatened to kill him and was attempting to rob Tony Stark. 

“How could you do this to her?” Peter wondered aloud.

“To her? I’m not doing anything to her, Pete,” he said, “I’m doing this for her.”

“Huh, yeah,” Peter muttered before shooting a web and gluing The Vulture’s left hand to the desk he was leaning on. The man merely glanced at it before sighing and looking at Peter, that was unnerving, why didn’t he seem to care?

“Peter, you’re young, you don’t understand how the world works.”

“Yeah, but I understand that selling weapons to criminals is wrong.” Peter snapped.

“How do you think Stark paid for that tower of his? Or any of his little toys?” The Vulture asked, his tone softening as though he was trying to get Peter to agree with his views. “Those people, Pete, those people up there – the rich and the powerful? They do whatever they want. Guys like us? Like you and me, they don’t care about us. We build their roads and we fight all their wars and everything, but they don’t care about us. We have to clean up after ‘em. We have to eat their table scraps. That’s how it is. I know you know what I’m talking about Peter.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I want you to understand, and…” Those cold eyes seemed to stare into his soul, “I needed a little time to get her airborne.”

With a click of a strange homemade remote, The Vulture’s wings flew through the warehouse, crashing through one of the support columns as its deadly metal ‘feathers’ glinted in the desk lamp’s low light.

Peter was forced to launch himself from column to beam to ceiling and then back to the ground in a series of flips and dodges that relied purely on instinct as dust filled the air. From the corner of his eye he saw the Vulture pull his hand away from the desk, breaking the webs that had bound it there.

“I’m sorry, Peter.” The Vulture said as Peter hit the ground, the wings narrowly missing him as they soared past where his head had been and grazed along the ground sending sparks into the air.

“What are you talking about?” Peter asked in confusion, “this thing hasn’t even touched me yet.”

The wings rapidly circled around them, keeping Peter in the centre of the room.

“True,” The Vulture said with a shrug, “then again, wasn’t really trying to.”

Peter whirled around in panic, just in time to see the wings take out the remaining warehouse supports. peter saw the dust fall and lie on his goggles as the building around him trembled and started to collapse around him. He opened his mouth, perhaps to scream or call for help, but he wasn’t able to draw in a breath to do so before the roof caved in on him. It knocked him out instantly.

Screaming.

That was the first thing Peter noticed when he slowly came back to the land of the living, he blinked slowly and felt his eyes sting with the grittiness of the dust around him. He looked around, trying to see through the haze that surrounded him, who was screaming?

He couldn’t see or hear properly, and his mask was making him feel claustrophobic and trapped. He reached up, trying to ignore the pain that radiated up his arms and down his back at the movement, and ripped his mask off.

“Oh god,” He tried to say, but it came out as a strangled gasp, his throat was far too dry. Still, he kept trying to talk as he was _sure_ someone was screaming, “hello? Are you ok?”

His question was unanswered as the screaming continued; didn’t the person need to pause for breath? Maybe they couldn’t hear him over their own noise, or maybe he wasn’t speaking loud enough.

“I’m trying to help,” he continued.

The screaming changed pitch. That was strange, it was too high, it was bizarre and almost like… oh.

No one was screaming, that was the sound of his ears ringing from the building falling on it.

He needed to get out, but he couldn’t even take a full breath in, so how would he be able to wriggle his way out of the hole that he was confined to. Nobody except The Vulture knew of his whereabouts, and that was the person who had left him lying beneath all the rubble which meant that Peter obviously wouldn’t be able to rely on him to come back and save his life.

No one would find him in time.

He was going to die there.

He probably had a severe concussion from all the blows his skull had taken that evening, and he was pretty sure that something had or was piercing through his side somewhere, if the sharp pain and strange tacky feeling was anything to go by. He could smell the metallic odour of blood.

“Someone help me,” he murmured hoarsely and swallowed, trying to shift the lump in his throat.

Nobody was coming. He was going to have to help himself, if he was going to stop The Vulture and save Tony Stark’s plane then he would have to get himself out from underneath an entire collapsed warehouse.

“Ok,” he muttered, “ready?”

He took as deep a breath in as the concrete would allow and tried to push himself up, his muscles trembled, and bloody spit fell from his clenched teeth as he tried his hardest to push himself up and get out. Metal and concrete creaked eerily around him but didn’t budge in the slightest.

He wasn’t strong enough.

He lay there panting for breath as he thought through his options, he could continue trying to escape which was proving to be unsuccessful or he could shout and hope that someone was passing by and happened to investigate the newly collapsed warehouse.

They were both terrible options, but he thought that shouting was going to be his most hopeful endeavour.

“Hello?” Peter tried to shout, his voice was still too hoarse. He panted, he was breathing too fast, was he panicking? Dumb question, of course he was panicking, he had a freaking _building_ on top of him, “please, hey.”

He gathered all of his strength to yell, “please, hey, I’m down here! I’m down here, I’m stuck. Please, I can’t move.”

Tears ran down his cheeks, carving their way through the dust that coated them as he panted and tried to catch his breath.

_Slow your breathing, Peter,_ he told himself, _calm down and think this through._ He lifted his head and saw his mask lying, half submerged, in an oily puddle.

Spider-Man’s mask. Peter’s mask. Peter was Spider-Man and Spider-Man was Peter.

“Come on, Peter,” he said to himself, “come on, co- come on Peter. Come on Spider-Man, come on Spider-Man.”

He started to push, dust fell and he could hear the concrete grinding around him, “come on Spider-Man,” he shouted.

With a scream he continued to push, he pushed through the pain he was already feeling, he pushed through the physical limitations, he pushed through the mental barrier telling him that he couldn’t do it.

He was doing it!

Water dripped over him from a leak somewhere overhead, and it intermingled with the sweat dripping down his face. His muscles protested every movement, but he continued to push because if he stopped, he didn’t think he would be able to try again.

A small part of him was freaking out about the fact that he was _lifting a warehouse_ as he threw metal frames and concrete blocks to the side. All the movement stirred up the dust around him and it felt as though he was suffocating on it as he crawled out of the debris, grabbing his mask from the puddle as he did so, once he was safe he could put it back on and protect himself from some of the dust.

He wanted to take a moment to revel in having survived _that_ , but he didn’t have the time, so he forced himself to keep moving and scanned the skies for the man who had tried to kill a teenager. Walking and moving _hurt_ , but Peter couldn’t allow that to stop him, not when The Vulture was sitting perched on the end of a blank billboard, as if calculatingly observing the area around him.

Peter made sure to stick in close to the shadows, hoping that The Vulture thought that he had died under all that concrete, that would give him an edge against the man – he wouldn’t think to be looking out for Peter approaching.

The Vulture moved to take off, so Peter shot two webs at the billboard and used them to slingshot himself upwards, immediately scaling the board itself before launching himself into the air and shooting another web at the mechanics that were attached to his enemy’s back.

He had to hold on for dear life as he was hauled into the air at an alarming speed. He was reminded of the unfortunate evening when The Vulture had dropped him into the lake, he could see the city light blinking at him in alarm as though warning him of a similar fate once more.

He could hear the faint murmur of words, but between the rush of air passing over him and the ringing in his head from having a collapsed building on top of him, he couldn’t tell what exactly was being said. Fortunately for Peter, the lights of the city disappeared from view, unfortunately that was because he had been carried higher than the clouds as they followed Stark Industries’ plane.

The Vulture reached the underside of the plane and latched on, using some sort of sharp tool to carve into the plane as he climbed towards the front. Peter’s grip on his web began to slip and his heart skipped a beat as he thought he was about to fall through the air to his death, instead he managed to grab on and stick to the plane. His heart was thudding so loudly that he was sure it would give him away, even over the sound of the aircraft.

Peter watched him place his strange wing contraption and the familiar purple cubes on the bottom of the plane, that was smart, he would get in completely undetected. However, it did raise some questions, after all allowing air to flow into the plane would surely end in disaster, so was there still a degree of a barrier between the inside and the outside?

_Not the time, Peter._

As peter crawled forward, he was surprised to find a small drone leaving the wings, it hovered for a moment in front of him, he froze. Did it have a camera? His worries were seemingly unfounded as the plane lurched to the side while the drone continued on course.

It was a decoy.

Never mind that, the plane had been hijacked, that was more important. Peter tried to prise the strange object off the bottom of it. His muscles protested his movements and ached as he tried everything he knew to move it.

Huh, apparently air _could_ pass through the barrier of the strange glowy cube things, as it started to whistle and work its way in.

Apparently his ministrations had caught The Vulture’s attention as all of a sudden the wings came to life and his eyes were briefly met by those cold, uncaring ones. Peter jumped into action and crawled up the side of the plane, he couldn’t be thrown off, not from that height.

“Just a typical homecoming, on the outside of an invisible jet,” he panted out to himself as he tried to suppress the panic that was making his fingers go numb, “fighting my girlfriend’s dad.”

He could call her that, if he was going to die then he would prefer to do so under the delusion that he had a girlfriend.

The Vulture flew towards him, his wing carving into the plane – ready to slice Peter in half. He scrambled out of the way at the last minute and tried to ignore the way the panels flitted through colours in a broken haze as they were causing his senses to go haywire. 

Thinking quickly, he shot a web at The Vulture and another at the plane. He was just repeating all of his worst memories at that point as his muscles strained and felt as though they were tearing in the same way they had when he had tried to hold the ferry together.

The force pulled the panel his web was attached to off the side of the plane, Peter panicked and shot a web at one of the engines to pull himself back towards the plane.

_Oh crap!_

He was flying towards the whirring engine. With a few carefully placed shots he managed to stop the rotating blades from turning and he was able to safely wedge himself into the safe gap in the engine.

“Phew,” he muttered, “I can’t believe that worked.”

The relief didn’t last long as the engine was pulled from its place on the plane’s wing. Peter was horrified to see that the other engine on that wing was also damaged. Did that- did that mean that the plane was going down? Peter was a human, a radioactive one sure, but a human nonetheless. He wasn’t going to survive a plane crash.

As if it hadn’t already, that was when things went completely to shit.

The Vulture seemed intent on destroying Peter, which shouldn’t have been a huge surprise considering his death threat and the fact that he had dropped a building on him, but the man no longer seemed to care about destroying the plane. His wings ripped into the metal and tore long gouges into it as he made his way towards Peter, who was scrambling away for his life. They were rapidly losing height.

Peter could see the lights of the city rapidly approaching and The Vulture strangely seemed to lose interest in Peter as he started to dig his way… into the plane? Peter didn’t have time to think about that as they were about to crash into buildings and potentially kill hundreds of people.

He needed to think fast.

As if acting purely on instinct he shot a web at the wing of the plane and pulled with all of his strength. His entire body felt like a bruise, but he powered through, after all, he didn’t think he’d be walking away from this one. There was only so much a person could go through, and if Peter died saving as many lives as he could, then that was enough for him.

“Please turn, please, please,” he begged as he heaved at the web, hoping that it wouldn’t snap, _come on, you held a ferry together, you can do this._

Except he hadn’t really, the ferry had sunk, and the plane was crashing. Really, he didn’t have a high success rate in his endeavours.

Thankfully the plane turned, Peter was thrown from his place, gripping onto the wing to stop himself from being launched into the air and sent careering towards the ground. His body was slammed against the wing as the plane soared towards the fairground of Coney Island. Lights twinkled innocently at him, they had no idea what was coming, not that they could be blamed really, as Peter didn’t know what to expect either. He had no idea what would happen when the plane hit the ground.

They were going down, and Peter had successfully steered the plane away from all of the building filled with people, but he wasn’t wholly able to avoid damage as the plane’s wing ended up going through one of the towering amusement park rides.

Oh, the Parachute Jump, Peter had liked that one. He watched it fall and hoped that no one was standing near it. He wanted to check but he had bigger things to worry about because the plane was going down and it was going fast.

Peter braced himself for impact, he had never really been sure how to do that, and as the plane hit the ground and his body was tossed against the wing while sparks and debris flew back to hit him in the face, he realised that he still didn’t really know how to ‘brace for impact’.

A piece of shrapnel was flung back and sliced through his hoodie, causing him to gasp in pain and instinctively release his grip on the metal.

He tumbled backwards, rolling through the gouges that were carved into the sand by the giant plane. Sparks burned at his exposed skin and singed his suit.

He struggled into a sitting position, ripping his mask off once more, why had he even bothered to put it back on?

_Ow, that’s going to leave a mark. Or two._

It wasn’t easy for Peter to pull himself back up to his feet, mainly because the world was spinning around him and there was an overwhelming ringing noise in his ears. Had he hit his head? Carefully he pressed his fingers to his head, where it was most tender feeling (if it was even possible for one area to be _more_ tender when every single part of him felt broken or battered) and they came away dark red.

Oh.

That wasn’t good, that was decidedly not a good thing to be happening, but in the grand scheme of everything going on, it wasn’t the worst thing.

He limped forward a few steps, pain shooting through him at the movement. Had Liz’s dad survived the crash? If he hadn’t… would that be Peter’s fault? After all, if he had stood back and let the hijack go ahead as planned, no one would have gotten hurt. Except for all the people affected by the stolen tech.

“Hello?” he croaked, something warm and metallic tasting bubbled in the back of his throat when he spoke. _Blood,_ his mind supplied.

He wasn’t given much time to worry about that though as a familiar figure, one from his nightmares, appeared before him. He was hazy from the smoke emanating from the burning wreckage, but Peter was never going to forget the green laser eyes that pierced through the horror and seemed to fixate on Peter with a sense of anger that he would have never expected from something so artificial.

And just like that Peter was thrown back onto the sand as The Vulture flew into him. Sharp wings cut into him as he was pushed back, everything hurt.

He could hear The Vulture crash somewhere behind him, was his wingsuit malfunctioning? Was he ok? Peter didn’t want to get up again, he didn’t think he could do it. His body hurt, he was a child, everything was burning around him, and he didn’t know how to cope with all of this.

He wanted to go home, curl up on the sofa with May and watch Star Wars while she wiped his tears away and ran her fingers through his hair.

That was a nice thought, maybe if he fought hard enough to get himself out of this mess, he would be able to go back home. Maybe, it wasn’t a promise, it wasn’t a guarantee. There were no guarantees at this stage, everything was in the air and nothing was certain. Still, with the thought of a quiet evening with May in his mind, he rolled onto his knees and pushed himself up. He staggered when he stood, everything was spinning and ringing.

For a split second he wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or not to see The Vulture climb back to his feet, his wings sparking and whirring threateningly in a way that made Peter worry about his safety.

“Hey, Pedro,” The Vulture said his wings angrily flaring into action once more.

Peter saw the blow coming this time and managed to throw himself onto the ground, tucking into a roll to avoid the blow that would have otherwise been sure to hit him. He shot a web at his enemy but wasn’t able to use it to gain any advantage as The Vulture decided to land on his chest.

Metal talons pierced through his suit, digging their way into his flesh and he _screamed._ Cold, green eyes met his – uncaring – and a metal coated fist was pulled back and then thrown forward, colliding with Peter’s face. Multiple times.

Pain blossomed everywhere, he wanted it to end, he wanted all of the agony to go away.

It didn’t. The Vulture instead flew upwards, his talons dragging Peter’s body into the air before dropping him, Peter shot a web at his heel and managed to catch himself before fully colliding with the ground, as it was his hip brushed against a sharp shard of metal. He launched himself up and felt his bones grind as he flipped in the air to face Liz’s father.

Peter was barely able to concentrate on what was going on, amongst the smoke, sparks and pain of soaring through the air, he had no idea what was happening until he was thrown face forward into the sand once more.

He wasn’t even given a chance to get up himself as he felt the sharp burning agony of the metal digging into his back, carving into his muscles, and he was lifted once more before being slammed into the ground. And then again.

Peter rolled onto his back, he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes and see death approach. He was tired and in pain and he couldn’t handle being slammed into the ground anymore. The Vulture had a different idea anyway, he pierced the hood of Peter’s makeshift suit and lifted him into the air by it.

His hoodie cut off his air supply, but Peter couldn’t bring himself to care, he dangled there helplessly while the pain became all he could feel. It was the only thing he could focus on. He thought he heard The Vulture speak, but the pressure on his throat disappeared as he was dropped to the ground and he was too busy trying to force himself through the agony to try and work out what the other man had said.

With sand on his face and in his mouth, he was forced to lift his head and watch as The Vulture tried to fly off with a crate. His wings were making a bizarre sound, one that made Peter’s Spidey-Sense call out in alarm, and sparks flew off them in every direction.

They were going to blow up.

“Your wingsuit!” Peter gasped out. “Your wingsuit’s gonna explode.”

Peter raised his arm, a strangled noise of pain escaping his throat as he did so, and he shot a web at The Vulture. The movement was too much, but he had no choice but to power through as he was dragged by the web after the older man.

Peter dug his heels in, trying to hold him in place.

“Time to go home, Pete.” The Vulture said, looking entirely too happy for a man who had just been in a plane crash.

“I’m trying to save you.” Peter shouted, _even though you want to kill me._

The Vulture didn’t care. He used his wing to cut the web that was holding him, and Peter could do nothing but watch as smoke billowed from the wings and the sparks worsened until all of a sudden they seemed to give up. He watched as Liz’s dad and his crate of loot fell from the sky and flames billowed from where he landed.

“No,” he gasped, “no!”

He forced himself back to his feet and ran towards the flames. He couldn’t let him die, not if… if there was a chance he was still alive.

Flames singed him and the air was hot and heavy as he ran through the deadly fire towards the prone figure lying beneath a mess of warped metal. Without thinking he reached out to move the metal, only for it to burn his hands, “ah!”

_Come on Spider-Man be smarter, it wont be so hot underneath._ Peter forced his burned hands through the sand and lifted the metal from a cooler place. The sand rubbed against his tender hands and he couldn’t stop a scream from escaping.

He carried the man who had tried to kill him out from the flames and sat him against the box he had tried to steal. With a few carefully placed webs he tied his wrists and ankles. Then peter set about collecting all the salvageable crates and he stacked them around the criminal, adding a few more webs into the mix to ensure that he wouldn’t be able to wriggle away or attempt an escape.

And then after stealing a piece of paper and a pen from one of the stalls in the amusement park, Peter scrawled out a note:

FOUND

FLYING VULTURE GUY

SPIDER-MAN

  1. SORRY ABOUT YOUR PLANE



He stuck it to the webs by The Vulture’s head and walked away. He needed to go somewhere where he was out of the way, but close enough that he could make sure the right people found the wreckage. The flags on the top of the Cyclone roller-coaster caught his attention, that platform would be the perfect place.

Once he made it up there, he felt the adrenaline slip away and suddenly all he could feel was pain. It was everywhere and it was unrelenting. He needed to make sure that Tony Stark’s team found the wreckage but his vision was starting to blur and darken around the edges.

The next thing Peter was aware of was someone speaking to him – a man. Was it- could The Vulture have escaped? Panic overtook him and he yelled out before he could stop himself, "gah!"

He forced his eyes to open as he pushed himself away from the figure before him. He couldn’t handle any more pain. In his distress, he forgot that he was on a platform and was forced to catch himself as he tumbled off the edge. He could only hold on with one hand, the other was dangling painfully by his side, apparently no amount of adrenaline would allow his brain to work through that injury.

Peter looked up, ready to see the green laser eyes, but instead… _oh._

That was Tony Stark. Iron Man was peering down at him, mask retracted as he scanned Peter with a look that could only be described as fear.

"Sorry," Peter grunted out as he tried to keep holding on, the darkness at the edges of his vision was growing. 

"Sorry?" Iron Man repeated questioningly as he helped to pull Peter back up onto the platform, "what on Earth are you apologising for?"

"I- I-" Peter was trying to explain but it seemed that his body had other ideas, and now that he was safe, he gave in. He let himself fall into the soothing darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me on tumblr @[ephemeralstark](https://ephemeralstark.tumblr.com/)
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this latest chapter, it concludes peter on his own! from now on there will be irondad!


	8. the kid

_Well… fuck,_ was Tony’s main thought as he was left holding an unconscious kid on the top of a rollercoaster on Coney Island, the air was thick with smoke, an unpleasant reminder that he was surrounded by the burning remnants of his plane. He was trying to hold onto the kid as lightly as possible, as he didn’t think there was a single inch of his skin that wasn’t bruised or bleeding from some wound.

“Kid?” He asked quietly, an instinctive question. There was no answer, just the steady sound of breathing, that was reassuring at least.

Not that he would ever admit it, but Tony had a few moments of pure panic as he thought about all his options. He needed to get the kid help, that was obvious, but _how?_ He couldn’t just send him to a hospital, there was something not quite human about him, no normal kid would have been able to survive a plane crash and then climb The Cyclone. Would an ambulance take him to the Avenger’s Compound? Probably not, or at least Tony would have to get some serious NDAs prepared.

There was only one clear solution in Tony’s mind. 

“Right, kiddo, here’s the thing,” Tony said as he adjusted his grip on the kid, “I’m wearing this suit, which is kinda necessary to get you to safety, but it’s not as smooth a ride as you might think. So, I need a favour, I need you to just hold on until I can get you to an actual professional who knows what they’re doing. Sound good?”

There was no answer. Tony took the silence as a yes.

“F.R.I., we need to get him back to the Med Bay.” Tony said.

_“The Med Bay has already been moved upstate. It was the first thing to be moved.”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed him.

“I know,” Tony snapped, before sighing and glancing down at the kid in his arms, “just… map out the quickest route.”

The kid’s brows furrowed as Tony moved, that didn’t bode well, hopefully he would stay out of it until they made it to the Med Bay where all the good drugs were. After all, Tony was almost positive that the only reason the kid had been able to keep going was pure adrenaline. 

“Right, kid, let’s go,” Tony said, glancing down at the child in his arms, jeez, he must have been about thirteen, “first we patch you up, and then I’m gonna have to come up with one hell of an excuse for your parents.”

Peter didn’t respond, probably for the best, or that was what Tony was trying to tell himself. As long as he was unconscious, he wasn’t screaming in agony.

“F.R.I., send a message to Happy that I’ve got Spider-‘Man’ and I’m taking him to the Med Bay.”

_“Message sent.”_

Tony tried his best to take off gently, but the kid in his arms grunted at the movement and his face screwed up in pain. _Don’t wake up, don’t wake up, don’t wake up,_ Tony pleaded silently as he followed the highlighted route that F.R.I.D.A.Y. had mapped out for him.

“F.R.I. can you alert the medical team that we’re on our way and tell them to prepare for everything.” Tony requested.

_“The alert has been sent; Dr Cho is on standby but would like more information on what to expect.”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. responded after a few moments.

“I said prepare for everything!” Tony snapped, the boy in his arms jerked at the shout.

Shit.

His eyes snapped open Tony’s heart skipped a beat at the absolute terror that was shining in them.

“NO!”

The kid’s shout was loud and jarring, but not as jarring as the way he moved, throwing Tony off balance.

“Kid, woah, what the fu-”

“Stop it, I won’t let you drop me again!” The kid hissed at him, bloody spit painting his lips as he did so.

“Kid, stop, I’m not the bad guy here.” Tony promised.

“That’s what they always say, that’s what _you_ said when you were trying to explain your actions with your excuses.” The kid said, blind with panic. “Oh, this is too high, oh no. Get off me! Don’t you dare drop me!”

“I’m getting mixed messages here Underoos,” Tony admitted, making sure to keep a tight grip on the child who was simultaneously struggling against him, and clinging on for dear life.

“Under- what?”

“Really? That’s what makes you listen to me?” Tony asked.

“You’re not The Vulture,” the kid murmured in confusion, “you’re Iron Man.”

“Yeah, and you’re out past your bedtime.” Tony said.

“What’s going on?” Peter asked, “why am I so high up?”

Just like that the panic seemed to come back, and Tony could practically _see_ his eyes glaze over.

“No! No, no, no, no, no, don’t drop me.” The kid pleases, over and over.

“Underoos!” Tony snapped, somehow that seemed to click with the kid, and he looked at Tony again, “I’m not gonna drop you.”

The kid looked up at him, guarded eyes meeting his, “you’re not?”

“No.”

“Promise?”

_Fuck. How old was this kid?_

“Yeah, Kiddo, I promise.” Tony said earnestly. “All we’re doing is heading back to the compound. I want my medical team to have a glance over you.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” the kid said quietly, “everything hurts.”

He said it so casually, so blasely, it was painful to hear. This, what? Thirteen? Fourteen? This _kid_ was just chatting away about how he was in pain after a plane crash as though it was an everyday occurrence.

“Just try and hold still, alright,” Tony said, “we’re almost there, and then we’ll get you some painkillers.”

“Won’t work,” the kid muttered, “they never do.”

“I think we’re going to have some stronger stuff than you have in your bathroom cabinet.” Tony told him.

“Doesn’t matter, my body will burn through everything.”

Jeez, what was this kid? He looked human, acted human, and Tony was almost sure that he was human, but there was something off about him. Was he injected with the Super Serum like Steve had been? Was he carrying Captain America 2.0 to safety?

Of course not, Captain America couldn’t stick to things like this kid was sticking to Tony’s suit. Honestly, he didn’t think he needed to hold onto him, not that he was going to test that theory, not when the kid was so completely terrified of being dropped.

That was another question that Tony couldn’t help but think about, despite not wanting to – why was the kid so scared of being dropped? What had he been through?

“F.R.I. get me all footage of ‘Spider-Man’ that you can find.” Tony asked, too quietly for the kid to hear, thankfully he seemed distracted by clinging onto Tony for dear life.

_“Directing to your heads-up display, taking over flight controls.”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. said.

Tony watched images flash across the screen, images of the kid in his arms flinging himself around the city on thin strands of… web? What the hell? Was that stuff coming out of him? That was a little bit gross, even Tony had to admit that, although it _was_ kinda cool.

The kid could not fight, in fact, Tony watched several videos of confrontations and the only thing that was stopping the kid from completely getting his ass handed to him, was what appeared to be an impressive instinct. He always managed to dodge blows, no matter where they were coming from, even when he couldn’t _see_ them coming. That was something else Tony could add to the list of things that weren’t right about Spider-Kid.

“Uh, Mr. Stark?” Tony swiped the videos off the screen with a flick of his eyes and turned to face the kid.

“What’s up?”

“I think I’m going to-” he cut off abruptly, spewing in a dramatic arch.

_Oh, gross._

Tony would worry about how disgusting it was at another time, he was more concerned with the fact that the kid had thrown up bright red blood. He didn’t have much medical experience, but he was fairly sure that when blood was bright red it was because the kid was actively bleeding from somewhere.

“-sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m so-”

“You’re sorry,” Tony interrupted, “I know, I mean, you shouldn’t be. It’s not your fault, but if you want to apologise constantly, then consider yourself forgiven.”

“I puked on _Iron Man_ ,” the child complained to himself, “Ned is never going to let me live this one down. On Iron Man. Me. Throwing up. Blowing chunks. Puking my-”

“As entertaining as all your euphemisms for vomiting are,” Tony interrupted, “I’d rather you concentrated on trying to stay conscious and not ‘blowing anymore chunks’.”

“Conscious? I’m conscious.” The kid slurred.

“Sure, that’s what we’re calling it.” Tony muttered to himself.

_This, Pepper, this was what I meant when I said I wasn’t cut out to take care of kids. This one just vomited blood and he’s more concerned about the fact he vomited on_ me _, like what kind of self-sacrificial bullshit is this?_

“Mr. Stark?” The kid slurred.

“Hm?”

“Don’t tell my Aunt I’m Spider-Man.”

And with that ever so mature and eloquent statement, he passed out once more. Tony didn’t know if it was due to blood loss or pain or even just the stress of the night, but he knew that the one thing more terrifying than a child puking blood, was a deathly pale child lying limp in his arms with drying blood on his chin.

“How long?” Tony asked tightly.

_“ETA 2 minutes.”_

“Two minutes, Kiddo, do you think you can hold on ‘til then?”

No answer.

“I think you can, you’re Spider-Kid after all, and I have so many questions for you. You aren’t going to pass up on a Tony Stark interrogation, are you?” Tony asked him. “I mean, it’s a pretty cushty interrogation, I’ll make you pancakes with any topping you desire, or crepes, do you like crepes? I don’t, they seem like a sweet tissue to me, I need more substance in my breakfast.”

_“One minute, Dr Cho’s team is prepared. Ms. Potts is also waiting for you.”_

“Hear that, Kiddo? Pepper is waiting for me, that’s good, you’d like her. Although, of course I’d say that, she’s the love of my life, and I… don’t know you, but you seem like a good kid, you saved my stuff and risked your life despite not knowing me. So, I think Pepper would like you and you’ll like her. She’s a great woman, y’know? Strong, feisty, brilliant. Better than me. But we go together.”

_“Approaching Med Bay.”_

“You’re the first to use the all new Med Bay, Kid, that’s an honour in itself. We’ll put your picture up on the wall, and give you a ribbon, sound good? Although, I hear pins are all the rage nowadays, would you rather have a pin?”

Tony slowed himself as the window to the Med Bay opened, he could see Cho’s team rush forward and they took the kid from his arms. He was placed on a trolley in the middle of the room, he looked younger on it, so much younger, too young to be in such a position.

“Tony,” a soothing voice murmured, he saw her hand come to rest on his chest plate and turned to look in her eyes. They were red rimmed and damp, that was ok, so were his, “come on out of there.”

She took a few steps back, the suit opened up without his permission, obviously F.R.I.D.A.Y. had sided with Pepper and they were working together to betray him.

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it.” Tony said before she could say anything to him.

“I know,” Pepper murmured, “let’s go have a seat and let the team help him.”

“I can’t leave!” Tony snapped, feeling guilty as she flinched back from his tone. “I- I’m sorry, Pep, I shouldn’t have shouted.”

“No, but I get it,” Pepper said, “I know you want to stay and make sure he’s ok, but you’ll be able to help him more by getting out of the way. The team doesn’t need you in here panicking and flapping in the background.”

Pepper was right. Of course, when wasn’t she?

“F.R.I. take her away.” Tony muttered, and turned to follow Pepper, listening to his suit take flight out the window once more.

“He’s going to be alright.” Pepper said.

“We don’t know that,” Tony said, “he looked _bad,_ Pep. He was covered in blood and I don’t think there was a single part of him that wasn’t hurt.”

“I saw.”

“And he was terrified,” Tony continued, “he thought I would drop him, when I was bringing him back here. He was so scared. I’ve never seen anyone look so…”

He trailed off, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

“I need a drink.”

“No, you don’t,” Pepper interrupted, “not now, Tony.”

“Now is the perfect time!” Tony snapped. “There’s a child in that room, a fucking _child_ and I- I can’t.”

“That kid is going to want to speak to you soon, he’s going to be scared and in pain, and he’s going to ask for the man who saved him.” Pepper promised. “I am not letting that man be drunk when he goes in there to reassure a child that it’s all going to be alright.”

“He won’t want to speak to _me_ ,” Tony muttered, “why would he? I’m the reason he’s in there.”

“How so?”

“It was my plane he tried to save.”

“Oh?” Pepper arched an eyebrow at him, “and were you the one who hijacked it?”

“Could I even hijack my own plane?” Tony asked, ignoring what she was trying to do.

“Tony, you brought him to safety, he’s a kid in a room full of strangers, he’s going to ask for you.” Pepper said.

Tony threw himself onto the floor in front of the sofa, pressing his back against it and staring up at the ceiling.

“F.R.I. run a facial recognition scan on Spider-Man.” Tony muttered.

“Really?” Pepper asked.

“You said it yourself,” Tony muttered with a shrug, “he’s a scared kid. I want to at least know who he is. Its this or a drink.”

“You know neither of those options are healthy.” Pepper said, but she took a seat on the floor beside him and stared at the wall where F.R.I.D.A.Y. had projected all the information she could find.

“Peter Parker.” Tony murmured, ignoring Pepper’s comment.

“He’s fifteen,” Pepper said, “so young.”

“Smart kid,” Tony murmured, “goes to Midtown School of Science and Technology. That’s impressive, that’s not an easy school to get into… and, he’s there on a scholarship. That’s impressive, he’s maintaining grades and moonlighting as Spider-Kid.”

“Midtown? Why does that name sound familiar?” Pepper asked.

“It’s one of the schools we headhunt our interns from.” Tony said. “The R&D ones, the _good_ ones.”

“Tony, you can’t insult your interns,” Pepper said tiredly.

“I’m not, I’m just saying, the best ones are in R&D.” Tony said defensively.

“You’re getting off track.”

“Right,” Tony agreed, turning his attention back to the information about Peter, “oh, damn. This kid has had it rough. F.R.I. enhance that article on his parents.”

The article filled the wall.

**_RENOWNED SCIENTISTS MARY & RICHARD PARKER PERISH IN PLANE CRASH_ **

“Mary and Richard Parker,” Tony muttered to himself, “I recognise those names, I think they were involved in S.H.I.E.L.D. business.”

“Look at the year, Peter was just a baby, he wouldn’t have gotten the chance to get to know them.” Pepper said.

“Take it back, F.R.I., let’s see what else there is.”

“What about that one?” Pepper suggested.

“Hey, look who’s getting into the swing of it,” Tony muttered with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

“If you can’t beat them, join them.” Pepper said with a shrug. “Now, F.R.I.D.A.Y. enhance that one about Benjamin Parker.”

**_YOUNG POLICE OFFICER, BENJAMIN PARKER, MURDERED IN FRONT OF NEPHEW_ **

“Oh, jeez, poor kid.” Tony muttered.

“So, he lost all of his family?” Pepper asked.

“Not quite, on the way over here he asked me not to tell his Aunt that he’s Spider-Man.” Tony said.

“And are you going to stick by that?” Pepper asked, glancing sideways at him, tony could see the headline reflected in her eyes.

“He passed out before I could say yes or no.” Tony admitted. “I don’t know what to do, Pep, he’s a kid, he should have someone looking out for him. He shouldn’t be fighting these criminals and putting himself in danger every night without someone knowing where he is. He’s not even a good fighter, he’s barely holding his own.”

“Do you think his Aunt will take it well?”

“Would you?” Tony asked. “I know I sure as hell wouldn’t, and I’m Iron Man. I think he needs to be the one to tell her the truth.”

“You say someone needs to know what this kid is up to, and I think we both know you won’t let him be on his own. Not now.” Pepper said.

“We don’t even know if he’ll want to go out there anymore, not after what he’s been through.” Tony said.

“The kid crashed a plane, and still took down the bad guy, if he didn’t have the motivation or the willpower to do good, he wouldn’t have bothered. You’re not going to be able to convince him to stay home and play video games or do homework, Tony, he’s going to be out there, making the world a better place.”

“Why do you think he does it?” Tony wondered.

“I think only he can answer that,” Pepper said with a shrug, “we can speculate and wonder, but at the end of the day only that kid knows why he goes out there.”

They watched various videos in silence of Spider-Man saving the citizens of Queens, of him throwing himself in head first into dangerous situations, of him walking old ladies across the street and giving directions, and carrying a mother’s groceries so she could push her kid in a stroller with ease.

Time passed and red bled into the sky as a new day began to dawn, neither Tony nor Pepper noticed it happening as they were too busy watching a fifteen year old somersault off a building in a roughly put together red and blue ‘suit’.

“Stark.” Dr Cho interrupted, sticking her head into the room. “The kid is asking for you.”

Tony jumped to his feet, his back protesting at the sudden movement after sitting hunched on the floor for so long.

“How is he?” He asked as he fell into step alongside Dr Cho.

“Stable. In pain. I want answers Stark, this is not acceptable. He looks like he’s about fourteen.”

“He’s fifteen, and you know almost as much as I do.” Tony said tiredly.

They walked along the corridor to the Med Bay, Pepper kissed his cheek and told him to give her a call if he needed her before making herself scarce. Leaving him to reassure Peter that everything would be alright, perhaps she thought this would be good for him, or perhaps she didn’t want to overwhelm the kid. Either way, Tony was on his own as Dr Cho returned to her team and he took in the kid lying on the trolley, as pale as anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you liked this why not reblog [here ](https://ephemeralstark.tumblr.com/post/190932983123/in-the-eye-of-a-hurricane-chapter-seven-summary)on tumblr and share with your friends, or perhaps have a look through my other fics, i have plenty of irondad and spiderson! you an also find me @[ephemeralstark](https://ephemeralstark.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


	9. peter is not ok

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is going to look at how everything effects peter, the coming chapters will deal with panic attacks, flashbacks, nightmares, and other issues which will be tagged as they come up. 
> 
> if these things are going to cause a negative impact on your well being please, close this fic, read something else. i appreciate all the love and commitment up to this point, but don't sacrifice your mental health for a story, there's plenty of others.

“Hey, Kid,” Mr. Stark said as he walked closer to the trolley in the centre of the room, he kept looking over his shoulder at the door he’d came through, and whenever he looked at Peter, he couldn’t quite meet his eyes. He seemed as though he wanted to be anywhere else but where he was.

Of course, why wouldn’t he? Peter had probably caused him a world of trouble, he’d crashed his plane in a very public location, caused a huge clean-up operation, probably put the man out hundreds of thousands – if not millions of dollars. Really, why would he want to be in a room with Peter?

Peter could already see the headlines:

**_TONY STARK CREATES CHAOS ON CONEY ISLAND RUINING THOUSANDS OF HOLIDAY-MAKERS VACATIONS!_ **

“Hi.” Peter mumbled, fiddling with the tubing that was connected to a cannula in his arms. Apparently crashing a plane meant he needed fluids and antibiotics delivered intravenously? Who knew? Well, Dr Cho apparently, but he hadn’t really been listening when she had been talking about everything that was going on, he was sure she’d been very thorough, but his mind had been too hazy with agony.

“Stop touching that!” Dr Cho said tiredly, it was as though she knew he was thinking about her.

That lady seemed as though she could be pretty scary if need be so Peter instantly let go of the tubing and let his fingers worry at a thread on his suit instead. Or what was left of his suit, most of it had been cut from him, only leaving enough to keep him decent, he was grateful for that, his cheeks were flushed enough with humiliation without him having to deal with being exposed in a full room.

“She’s a hard ass but she cares,” Mr. Stark said, even though Peter hadn’t replied, and he took a few steps forward bring himself a little closer, “I think she sometimes forgets that not every patient is as stubborn and difficult as me.”

“No, if they were, I would quit.” Dr Cho said as she passed, pressing a button on a screen that made the blood pressure cuff on Peter’s arm inflate.

“She loves me really.” Mr. Stark whispered, as if Dr Cho wouldn’t be able to hear him.

Peter just blinked, he couldn’t think of anything to say, he had asked for Mr. Stark to come through and now that he was there, he didn’t know what to talk about.

He’d asked for him by impulse after waking up in a room full of strangers who were poking and prodding at him, he’d demanded that Mr. Stark come through because in that moment he had been a terrified child who was trying to latch onto the last familiar face he’d seen.

Peter was ashamed to admit that it had taken five people to restrain him during his panic induced flailing while he was given a sedative so that they could keep him from further hurting himself - a sedative that hadn’t actually knocked him out and had been burned through in minutes, but still.

“So…” Mr. Stark said trailing off, prompting Peter to say what he wanted. What he’d been called through to hear.

“I-” Peter hesitated, “I’m sor-”

“Don’t.” Mr. Stark interrupted. “Don’t apologise to me, you shouldn’t be saying sorry to me for anything right now.”

“I crashed your plane.” Peter mumbled, before mentally kicking himself – why would he bring that up? He was meant to be smart; he shouldn’t be handing Mr. Stark a list of reasons to be angry on a silver platter.

“You stopped a guy from stealing some incredibly dangerous and rare items.” Mr. Stark corrected him. “Do you know how badly things could have been if he had gotten away with some of the things in those crates. There’s a reason they were all very carefully packaged on a flight that _Happy_ oversaw.”

“There was probably something I could have done that wasn’t so impulsive.” Peter mumbled. “My Aunt May sometimes says that I need to stop and think about what I’m doing before I do it. Did you know that I once-”

“Peter, kid, calm down.” Mr. Stark said. “I don’t care that you’re impulsive, I don’t care that you crashed my plane, right now all I care about is that you’re alright.”

“I am, I’m f- wait.” Peter’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Mr. Stark. “How do you know my name?”

“I-”

“Did you look me up?” Peter asked.

Mr. Stark paused for a second. “I did.”

“You had no right to do that!” Peter shouted, jerking upright on the trolley, ignoring the intense spasms of pain that the movement caused. Oh god, Mr. Stark knew who he was, that meant he was going to tell May, and then she would flip out big time. He’d never be allowed to go out as Spider-Man ever again.

His life was over.

“I had every right.” Mr. Stark said. “You’re a minor, and I didn’t know if you were going to die or survive. I found a kid, broken and bleeding, because some asshole tried to steal _my_ stuff. That makes it _my_ fault that you were out there, _my_ fault that _you_ were hurt.”

“It’s not your fault.” Peter said earnestly, his anger filtering away and leaving behind exhaustion and pain. “I didn’t do it because it was your stuff, Sir, I did it because it was the right thing to do.”

“Lie back, I didn’t stitch you up for an hour for you to rip everything out in a teenage fit.” Dr Cho said, gently pressing Peter’s shoulder back into the bed and interrupting whatever it was Mr. Stark was going to say.

“It’s not a teenage fit.” Peter sulked, but complied, letting himself relax against the plastic feeling pillow.

“Yeah, he’s like eleven, that’s not old enough to be counted as a teen.” Mr. Stark agreed.

“Hey!” Peter complained. “I’m fifteen.”

“Don’t I know it,” Mr. Stark muttered, shaking his head, “so, Cho, lay it on me. What’s wrong with the kid?”

“Well, I barely know where to start.” Dr Cho admitted as she took Peter’s temperature. “We have him in a stable condition, we’ve cleaned him up as best we can and stitched up his wounds. He’s on a fair whack of painkillers at the moment, in fact, I’m surprised he’s even conscious.”

Peter bit his tongue, after hearing that he couldn’t really pipe up and say that he was still sore. She’d think he was lying or trying to get more drugs. Oh, what if she already thought that? What if her and Mr. Stark thought that he was a drug seeking teen who crashed a plane after stealing it?

Would Mr. Stark take him up in the air and drop him?

Would they dig through his flesh with metal talons like The Vulture had?

Would they expose who he was?

Would they drown him?

“-eter, Peter, Peter!”

Peter’s head jolted up until his eyes met Mr. Stark’s – it was weird to see him without glasses, he always seemed to be wearing them on TV and in the magazine pictures. Peter had begged his Uncle Ben for a pair similar when they had gone to a Stark Expo.

“Huh?” Peter mumbled.

“Calm down, kiddo, you’re alright,” Mr. Stark said… soothingly? “Just match your breathing to mine, focus on that, you’re safe.”

“What’s going on?” Peter asked through numb lips. Weird. They were numb, but also tingling, it was like he’d been to the dentist and had a local anaesthetic.

“You were panicking.” Mr. Stark said. “Want to share what was going through that brain?”

“No.” Peter said quickly.

“Hmm.” Apparently that hadn’t been the answer they had wanted. Instead of waiting for them to ask further questions, he turned the situation around and shot out one of his own. “When can I go home?”

“Whenever you want.” Mr. Stark said with a light shrug, that had been an unexpected answer, Peter had thought they would hold him there for as long as possible, against his will if they had needed to.

“Of course, we’d appreciate it if you’d let us finish patching you up, so you’d have a medical all clear,” Dr Cho continued, “but you’re not a prisoner, we won’t force you to stay.”

“Alright,” Peter said slowly, thinking his options through, “well, I’m already past my curfew so really I should be getting home, but I’d scare May if I showed up looking like this.”

“So you’ll stay?” Mr. Stark asked.

“I guess.” Peter mumbled with a light shrug, it was uncomfortable, it pulled at something on his back and his wince must have been evident as Mr. Stark instantly caught it.

“Sore?” He asked.

“No.” Peter said quickly, too quickly.

“You don’t have to pretend to be brave,” Mr. Stark reassured him, “we’ve got the good stuff here for emergencies and this is definitely an emergency.”

“I’m alright, really.” Peter lied; it wasn’t their fault that his metabolism burned through regular painkillers in a heartbeat.

“You’re not telling me something.” Mr. Stark realised.

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Kid, talk to me, we’re trying to help but we’re in unknown territory here, you’ve got to talk to us and let us in on what you know.”

“Alright,” Peter mumbled, he supposed that since Mr. Stark was helping him, he could try and trust him, “it’s just, I don’t really know how this all works, but I can’t really take painkillers.”

“You’re allergic?” Dr Cho butted in suddenly, rushing forward.

“No, no, no,” Peter was quick to reassure, “it’s more that they don’t have any effect on me at all.”

“So you’re still in pain right now?” Mr. Stark asked, his eyes narrowing.

“It’s fine, really,” Peter said, “I’m used to it, and I heal fast.”

“That’s possibly the only reason you aren’t dead.” Dr Cho admitted bluntly. “Your accelerated healing kept you alive, but now I need to help it along, and the only way to do that is honesty. I’ve been stitching up some pretty deep wounds, _and_ I’ve been cleaning them.”

“Yeah.” Peter agreed. What else was there to say? He knew what she’d been doing, he’d felt it all.

“Are you seriously telling me that you could feel every bit of that?”

“It’s not your fault,” Peter jumped at the chance to offer her some reassurance, “it’s just how my body is, I’m used to this now.”

Peter flinched as Mr. Stark cursed loudly and paced around the room, he was almost afraid to speak up and say anything as it seemed that no matter what he did, it was the wrong thing.

“Stark. Calm down or I’m kicking you out.”

“He’s been in pain the entire time he’s been in here.” Mr. Stark shouted. “How the fuck do you expect me to stay calm? He’s a child! A child who is hurt and in pain, and what have we done to help him? Nothing, that’s what.”

“Speak for yourself,” Dr Cho said with a sniff, “I’ve been working on helping all these wounds to heal.”

“While inflicting more pain.” Mr. Stark argued.

A flash of guilt shot through Peter, this was his fault – he was the reason Mr. Stark and Dr Cho were arguing. He’d been trying not to be difficult and awkward by withholding the pain from them, but he hadn’t meant for them to get angry.

“Please don’t be mad with each other,” Peter piped up, “I’m really sorry for everything.”

“Why the hell wouldn’t you speak up and say you’re sore, Kid?” Mr. Stark asked.

Peter recoiled a little under their piercing glances, “uh, I just, didn’t want to be a nuisance. You’re already doing so much for me, and I can’t ever repay you for any of this and-”

A sudden thought struck Peter.

“Oh no.” He mumbled, paling drastically. “Mr. Stark, I _can’t_ afford this. I don’t think my Aunt’s insurance covers me for private care in your compound, and it definitely won’t cover-” he lowered his voice, “- _Spider-Man_ related injuries. I have to go, like now, I can pay you back somehow.”

Peter jerked up, ignoring the tugging feeling of the stitches that were holding his wounds together, and began to pull the wires that were connected to stickers on his chest off. Machines began to alarm and Peter saw the medical team glance over in surprise before realising that he was the cause of the trouble, they seemed to step back and leave Dr Cho and Mr. Stark to deal with him.

“Woah, woah, woah, Kid, you need to calm down,” Mr. Stark said quickly, grabbing Peter’s hand that was trying to tease off the tape that kept his cannula in his arm, “no one is making you pay for anything.”

“I don’t want any further treatment.” Peter said quickly. “You can’t do anything to me, I withdraw consent.”

“Kid, calm down.” Mr. Stark said. “I said I wouldn’t keep you here against your will and I won’t, but if you’re only leaving because you’re worried about money then take a deep breath and calm yourself.

Peter stared down at the hand that was holding his own in place. Huh, a small part of his brain registered that Mr. Stark had the hands of a man who had a very hands on job, they were old and weathered and covered in tiny white scars. Not what Peter would have expected from a genius and a businessman.

 _If I want to, I can get out of here,_ Peter reminded himself mentally.

“This is calm.” Peter stated. “I don’t want anything more to be done to me. I can work off what you’ve already done by helping out, if you need me to. I can do coffee runs and deliver messages and… uh, whatever people do in offices.”

“Kid, I’m not charging you for any of this.” Mr. Stark said, Peter could barely look him in the eye. The need for him to have said that and it be honest was almost painful.

“You’re not?”

Peter could barely dare to dream that he was telling the truth, medical bills could sink him and May. They weren’t _poor_ , they got by well enough, but they were living with one income and May refused to allow Peter to get an evening job, because she said he needed to focus on his schoolwork. So, they managed, but even people who were relatively well off could be ruined by a hefty medical bill.

“Of course not,” Mr. Stark said, letting go of Peter’s hands – apparently decreeing him safe from potentially absconding, “Kid, you did something extremely selfless and amazing tonight… last night? I don’t know anymore, but my point is that I should be paying _you_ hundreds of millions. Fixing you up is the very least I can do-” Dr Cho cleared her throat, “-or rather it’s the least I can pay someone more experienced to do.”

“Thank you.” Dr Cho said, as she fiddled with the cannula that Peter had been trying to remove.

“But I-”

“No ‘buts’, Peter, I’m Tony Stark and I’ve decided that there’s nothing you owe me money for.”

“But-”

“Seriously, Peter, give up,” Mr. Stark said, “you won’t change my mind. Just ask Pepper, she’ll tell you that I’m as stubborn as an old mule. Where is she? I’ll introduce you two later, you’re gonna love her. She’s gonna love you too, oh god, she’s going to side with you over _everything_. Kid, you have no idea how done for I am. She’s going to adore you.”

Peter listened to him talk and relaxed back into the trolley, feeling twinges of pain return once the fear had slowly seeped away.

“Right, now that we’ve established that you’re not paying for anything and I’ve rambled until you’ve calmed down, can we go back to treating you?” Mr. Stark asked, Peter let out a small nod, “right, Cho, get this kid some of Cap’s pain relief.”

“Cap’s?” Peter asked, frowning to himself, “wait… as in Captain America? Why am I having his painkillers?”

“The regular strong stuff doesn’t seem to be working on you,” Dr Cho said, “and believe me, you’ve had some really, really powerful drugs.”

“So I get Captain America’s meds? That’s cool.” Peter mumbled. “Hey, can I tell Ned?”

“Ned?”

“He’s my guy in the chair,” Peter mumbled, “he probably thinks I’m dead now though, do you think that someone could tell him that I’m alive? He’s probably really bummed about it.”

“Uh, did you give him it already?” Mr. Stark asked

“Yeah, can’t you tell?”

“I can, I just wanted to make sure that it wasn’t some weird head injury that was making him go all wappy.” Mr. Stark murmured.

Peter just grinned to himself as he listened to their voices mingle together and he felt the pain slowly ebb out of his body.

It wasn’t until later that day? Night? Whatever it was, that Peter found out the ins and outs of what had happened to him. He was told that if he had been a normal person then he wouldn’t have survived… that was a terrifying thought to process. Somehow, he had sustained injuries that had baffled a superhero’s medical team, injuries that had made them marvel at his ability to walk and climb The Cyclone.

In all honesty Peter hadn’t really listened to the list of problems.

He got the gist.

Deep wounds, abrasions, bruises, fractures, a little internal bleeding…

Honestly, he didn’t want to think about it in detail, his main question had been, “will I need surgery?” to which he’d been told that he was very lucky that none of his fractures had displaced and no his other injuries had already started to repair themselves, he would heal in his own time.

Of course, that didn’t mean that he would be able to hide everything from May. Despite his excellent healing abilities, he had still been given a blue fabric sling to support his arm as his ‘fractured neck of radius’ healed… whatever that was. Thankfully he only had to wear it for a few days, but still, it wasn’t something he could easily hide.

Peter was just glad that he was finally getting analgesia that worked. Everything that he was told felt like it was no big deal thanks to the powerful drugs that kept his mind in a pleasant haze of happiness. He was thinking about how he would hide things from her but he wasn’t really concerned about May in those moments, and she was probably out of her mind with worry about where he was.

It wouldn’t last though, Mr. Stark had already said that his team were working on synthesising a drug that would actually work for him, rather than continuing to use Captain America’s formula that was slightly too strong for his teenage body.

“You know, Pete, one d-”

“Don’t call me Pete.” Peter said, with a cutting edge to his tone that he didn’t even realise that he was capable of.

Just like that, all the pleasant fuzziness of the painkillers was gone, and adrenaline seemed to rush through him, leaving behind burning trails of fire in his veins.

“Alright, I’m sorry, Kid,” Mr. Stark said slowly, his voice gentle and reassuring – a stark contrast to the way his hand seemed to hover in the air as though he wasn’t sure whether he needed to restrain Peter or protect himself, “I wont call you… that… ever again.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter mumbled after a few drawn out seconds where they just stared each other down, neither willing to move or give in until Peter sank back against the pillow, “I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“No, no, now we know that that’s a trigger, I won’t call you that.” Mr. Stark said.

“A trigger?” Peter asked, frowning. He’d heard of those on the internet, but that wasn’t something that could be relevant to him, right?

“Yeah, it can be anything really; a word, a sound, smell, sight… anything. It’s something that causes you to – in your case – remember a bad experience. Which is a real simplification, but I don’t think we should go into all the overwhelming stuff today.” Mr. Stark explained.

“I don’t have triggers,” Peter said, “that’s something that people who go to war have, not me.”

He was Spider-Man. Spider-Man couldn’t be triggered by something such as a name, he was stronger than that. He was a hero, or at least, he was trying to be.

“Anyone can suffer from post-traumatic stress,” Mr. Stark explained quietly, “not just soldiers. Did you know, I suffered from quite extreme PTSD when I got home from that cave in Afghanistan?”

“I mean, yeah, but you were kidnapped, and tortured.” Peter said with an apologetic shrug. “I saw the news, you almost died, Sir.”

“So did you, Underoos,” Mr. Stark said earnestly, “I don’t think you realise how lucky you are to be as well as you are right now. You were so close to dying, so close to being paralysed – potentially for life – you had so many blows to your head, we’re lucky you don’t have any bleeds in your skull. There were so many possibilities that could have led to you not sitting here having this conversation with me.”

“But I am.” Peter said, he didn’t quite understand why his voice had taken on a pleading tone.

“Yeah, and I’m really fucking grateful to Cho and her team for that.” Mr. Stark said. “If you weren’t, that would have been on my conscience forever. That’s not an exaggeration.”

“I know,” Peter mumbled, “I just don’t think you’re right about _me_ having triggers. I’m Spider-Man.”

“You’re an injured kid.” Mr. Stark corrected. “You can call yourself whatever you want, but that doesn’t change what you’ve been through and how you feel about it. I mean, look, I’m not an expert – far from it – but I did speak to experts when I was sorting out my problems and-”

“I don’t need a shrink.” Peter interrupted.

“Alright.” Mr. Stark said, backing off surprisingly quickly. “I won’t force you into anything, but if you do change your mind, come and find me. We can talk, tinker in my workshop, watch a movie. I can get you help, but just don’t feel like you have to face this alone.”

“I don’t think anything.” Peter muttered, he was aware of how stupid that made him sound, but he wasn’t willing to accept anything that Mr. Stark was saying. Even if a small part of his mind was whispering that he was probably right.

There was a brief pause, that seemed to stretch on into a much linger one as Peter considered the events of the last few days.

“Mr. Stark? Why are you so insistent on helping me?”

“I owe you one, Kid,” Mr. Stark said with a shrug, “so if one of the ways I can pay you back is by returning you to peak physical and mental health, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“You really don’t owe me anything.” Peter said.

“Well, how about this…” Mr. Stark proposed, leaning forward in his seat, “how about, you come over here for a few hours a week, or whatever you can manage, and we can build you a new Spidey suit, a proper one this time? And I can tell you everything I know about being safe while helping people, but don’t tell anyone about that second part, they’ll laugh at the idea that I could ever advise someone on how to be safe.”

“I get to build a Spider-Man suit? With you?” Peter asked.

“…yeah?”

“Oh my god, this is so cool!” Peter exclaimed, jolting his shoulder a little with excitement which sent a flash of agony down his back, but he didn’t care, he was going to be working with Mr. Stark!

If only he knew how to explain to May what had happened so he’d be allowed out her sight sometime within the next forty years. Maybe that was something Mr. Stark could help him with?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there we are, now the shit can truly start to hit the fan. 
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @[ephemeralstark ](https://ephemeralstark.tumblr.com/)come say hi! leave an ask or a message! drop a kudos or a comment here! i read them all (many many times) and they inspire me to keep going with this fic. i'm glad so many of you are enjoying this as much as i love writing it! thank you!


	10. It's ok

“Peter, what the hell? Like seriously, what the hell do you think you’re doing putting me through all this stress and worry, only to turn around and tell me that you can’t actually tell me anything?” May’s voice was loud and carried through the air, so Peter held the phone away from his head slightly as to prevent it causing a headache with his enhanced hearing.

He may as well have just had her on speaker phone, her shouting wasn’t hiding anything.

“May I-” he tried to interrupt so he could explain himself to her, having barely been able to get a word in edgeways since his initial ‘hello’.

“No Peter, I’m not listening to your excuses right now, I’m the adult in this situation and I’m doing the talking, so you’re going to have to just zip it and listen to me. I have been nothing if not lenient with you over the past few months, but your behaviour is just getting out of hand.” May continued angrily. “You’re staying out past your curfew, you aren’t in bed when I check on you overnight, you constantly seem tired and in pain, you’re a child Peter, you shouldn’t be walking around flinching when you move a certain way.

“You shouldn’t be looking over your shoulder constantly as though you expect someone to be creeping up on you, you shouldn’t be doing any of this! You always think someone is following us when we’re out in the city. On top of all of that, you just haven’t been yourself lately, it feels like I’m losing my little boy.”

“I’m sorry, May.” Peter said earnestly, his face flushing slightly at the ‘little boy’ comment, Mr. Stark had surely heard that.

“Is it drugs?” She asked him seriously.

“What?” Peter’s voice squeaked with surprise at that question.

“Drugs, Peter, drugs. You’re not stupid, you know exactly what they are, so don’t play ignorant with me.” May snapped.

“I’m not on any drugs.” Peter promised, mentally correcting himself, _not any illicit drugs at least, but Captain America’s painkillers are definitely still in my system._

“Well then, what is it?” May asked. “Are you in a gang?”

“No, no, no, no,” Peter stammered, “I’m not on drugs and I haven’t joined any gangs.”

Mr. Stark let out a snort from the corner of the room where he was lounging on a chair while tapping constantly on his phone. Helpful.

“Is this a puberty thing?”

“May!” He yelped. “No!”

“I’ve done my best for you, Peter, is this to do with Ben?”

“No!”

“Alright, alright, I just had to ask because you aren’t your normal self, I don’t know what to do with you at the moment. I feel like I’m failing you, but I don’t even know how.” May confessed. “Please, baby, just tell me where you are, where you’ve been for the last day and a half.”

“I can’t May.” Peter said, his throat tightening as he did so, “I signed an NDA.”

“A… what?” May asked.

“A Non-Disclosure Agreement,” Peter said, elaborating his lie, “I could get in serious trouble if I say too much, May, and so could you. I promise I want to tell you everything-” another lie, “- I just can’t.”

“Why would you sign one of those?” May asked, her voice shaking slightly, was she angry or scared? He was leaning more towards scared as he could hear small sniffles that she was trying to hide from him.

“I had to,” Peter said, “you know that guy on the news at the moment?”

“Adrian Toomes?” May asked.

“Yeah, he’s Liz’s dad.” Peter said.

“Your date to Homecoming? Oh honey, are you alright?” May asked, her voice taking a sudden frantic turn that made his stomach churn with nauseating guilt, “did he hurt you at all?”

“No, I’m not hurt, just a little shaken,” Peter said, continuing to deceive the woman who loved him as if he was her own, “I’ll be home as soon as possible, I promise.”

“I’m still mad, don’t think that I’m going to forget about the trouble of the past few months just because you have a good reason to be missing right now.” May said.

“I get it,” Peter muttered.

“Good, just… Peter, you are safe now aren’t you?” May asked.

“Yeah, I couldn’t be better off.” Peter promised from his hospital trolley in the med bay of stark industries.

“I love you, Sweetie.” May said.

“I love you too.”

“Come home soon, Pete.”

Pete _._

_I’m going to give you one chance, are you ready?..._

_You walk through those doors, you forget any of this ever happened, and you don’t ever,_ _ever_ _interfere with my business again, ‘cause if you do…_

_I’ll kill you and everybody you love._

_I’ll kill you dead, that’s what I’ll do to protect my family, Pete._

_Do you understand?_

He understood alright, he knew that The Vulture was telling the truth, he knew that there was a promise to end his life there and he had willingly chosen to go ahead and run headfirst into that danger.

_I’ll kill you dead, Pete._

Peter felt the phone slip from his fingers, it was almost like he was watching himself fall apart from the corner of the room. Like he was himself and he wasn’t. He was Peter, he was Pete, and he was dead.

_I’ll kill you dead._

_Dead._

_Pete._

_Dead._

“Help… me…” Peter gasped out, he was under the warehouse again, it was crushing him, and he couldn’t get out. “I’m down… here…”

“Peter, come on, Kiddo,” a soothing voice murmured in his ear while a pair of arms held him together as he shook and sobbed and died, “you’re alright, you’re in the compound. You’re safe.”

“No.” Peter argued, shaking his head.

“Yes.” The voice was firm but gentle. “There’s no one here who will harm you, not today, not ever, you’re safe, Underoos.”

_Underoos._

There was only one person who called him that.

“Mr. Stark?” He asked, feeling rather exhausted despite not having done much since arriving at Mr. Stark’s home.

“Hey, there, you were beginning to worry me.” Mr. Stark said.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Peter apologised, before looking at his hand where the phone had been not two minutes ago, but now it was gone. Oh god, had May heard all of that? “Mr. Stark, the phone!”

“It’s alright, I got it, and I hung up as soon as I realised what was happening,” Mr. Stark said, moving away from Peter once he had noticed that he was alright, “I don’t think she would have heard anything.”

Peter nodded a little, hoping that it was true, Mr. Stark didn’t gain anything by lying to him, so surely it would all be fine.

“I fed her the story about the NDA,” Peter said quietly.

“I heard.” Mr. Stark murmured. “I’m sorry you had to do that; I know you didn’t want to.”

“No, but I was going to have to lie to her regardless, at least this one limits any potential questions.” Peter admitted. “I just wish I could have told her in person.”

“Well I have some good news on that front,” Mr. Stark said. “I’ve spoken to Cho and she’s impressed – and very confused – with how fast you’re healing, so she says if you can get yourself cleaned up, then you’re free to go home. Your Aunt is going to have questions about that NDA though, so you need to be prepared.”

“I know,” Peter mumbled, “I’m going to have to lie to her, aren’t I?”

“You can always tell her you’re Spider-Man?” Mr. Stark suggested.

“No way.” Peter was sure about that one. “She doesn’t deserve that stress to be added onto her plate. Besides, she would try to stop me from helping people.”

“Do you ever consider it?” Mr. Stark asked. “Stopping, that is.”

“Never, I’m Spider-Man and I’m here for the people of Queens, if I do nothing then that makes me complicit in the attacks on them. I have these abilities and it’s only right that I use them to help others. How could I sit back knowing that I can do what I do?”

“With great power comes great responsibility.” Mr. Stark murmured.

“Exactly.” Peter murmured.

“You’re a good kid,” Mr. Stark complimented him.

“I worry her.” Peter said, thinking about his Aunt.

“That’s your job, you’re her kid. Kids were born to scare their parents.” Mr. Stark said.

“I suppose.”

A silence fell over them for a few moments before Mr. Stark cleared his throat and looked at Peter.

“Kid,” he said quietly, “what did you mean when you said you were ‘down here’?”

“I didn’t say that.” Peter said resolutely, shaking his head to further prove his point.

“You did, Kid, and I just want to understand where your mind is going when you have these moments of panic.” Mr. Stark said.

Panic? Was that what he was doing? Well, Peter supposed he was, after all he was completely terrified and paranoid when he was having the ‘episodes’, so panicking was definitely what he was doing. Mr. Stark seemed to think it was something that needed to be addressed though, but why? Surely it was normal to have those small episodes after going through what he had?

“They’re not a problem.” Peter said. “I’m not going to give up being Spider-Man because of them.”

“I’m not telling you to,” Mr. Stark said with a shrug.

“Then why do you want to know what I meant?”

“If I can understand where your mind has gone then I can try to talk you out of the attacks easier.” Mr, Stark said.

“They’re not panic attacks.”

“Alright,” Mr. Stark murmured with the obvious tone of someone who was just trying to please him to get their own way.

“They’re not!” Peter insisted.

“Alright, kiddo, we can argue the semantics of it all another time, but right now I’d like to hear a little about what you’ve been through.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright, I understand, you don’t have to talk about it, but how about this,” Mr. Stark suggested, handing the phone that had slipped onto the floor back to him, “how about you take this home and call me at any time if you want to talk about what happened, or how you’re feeling, or hell, you can even call and tell me what you had for dinner. Just don’t think that you have to go through this alone.”

“I can’t accept that.” Peter stated as he looked at the smooth phone, silently thanking every deity out there that there were no cracks or blemishes on it from him dropping the device.

“Why not?” Mr. Stark asked. “It’s a gift.”

“It’s worth more than _me._ ” Peter said with wide eyes as he played with a scab on his arm.

“Not true,” Mr. Stark said, gently taking Peter’s hand to stop him from worrying at his healing wound, and placing the phone in it, “no amount of money or electronics is worth more than a life.”

“Won’t May ask where I got it from?”

“Tell her you can’t really say thanks to the NDA but your old one was taken as evidence and replaced with that one by the wonderful Iron Man.” Mr. Stark said with a small flourish of his hands towards the end.

Huh, if Peter hadn’t been so intimidated by the man’s presence he may have perked up and asked if he had really just made _jazz hands_?

“Now,” Mr. Stark said, as he also passed Peter a ridiculously large and fluffy towel with a generic pair of comfortable looking sweats and a t-shirt, “I sent Happy out to get these with the vague instruction that you were teenager sized so if they don’t fit then you can blame him. The shower is down the hall over there, Cho said you can take your sling off for it, and just meet me back here once you’re done and we’ll look at getting you home.”

Home. That sounded nice, Peter was looking forward to rolling up in a ball in his own bed and sleeping for as long as he possibly could.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark.” Peter said and he gingerly held onto everything and shuffled his way out of the room, ignoring the spikes of pain that came with the movement.

The shower was bliss at first, the warm water seemed to ease his aches and pains in a way that no number of drugs ever would. He stared at the blood and dust tainted water as it swirled around in a macabre pattern and disappeared down the drain.

Of course, since it was such a pleasant feeling, it couldn’t last long.

Peter’s first mistake was looking up.

His second was inhaling.

When the water hit his face he panicked, and as he panicked, he gasped, taking a mixture of water and air into his lungs causing him to flail out and lose his balance. For a few seconds as he was falling through the air, he was back in his Spider-Man suit being dropped through the air into a giant body of water.

“No,” he coughed out, water dripping from his lips – logically he knew that was because the shower was still on and the water was hitting him and running down his face, but in his mind it was because he was drowning, “no, no, no.”

Later he would realise that if he could talk then he couldn’t be drowning, but there was very little space in his mind for reason as panic flooded him.

His heart was racing at a million miles per minute and he clasped a hand to his chest as if he could will it back into a normal rhythm that way. What was going on? Why did it feel as though it was about to take off? Was he dying?

 _“Hello, Peter, you appear to be in distress, would you like me to contact Mr. Stark?”_ A robotic sounding Irish lady said.

“What?” Peter gasped, glancing around frantically to see who was in the room with him, he could barely see past the water that was dripping in his eyes.

 _“Would you like me to contact Mr. Stark?”_ the lady repeated.

“Who are you?” Peter demanded breathlessly, “where are you?”

 _“I am F.R.I.D.A.Y. and I am everywhere. I am Mr. Stark’s AI.”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y., apparently, said.

An AI? Peter had read the discussion boards and the theories about Mr. Stark’s technology, a few of them even contained people who claimed to have previously worked for Mr. Stark and they wound wonderful tales of an AI that could do things that they hadn’t thought would be possible for another twenty, maybe thirty, years.

Those people had usually been called ridiculous and shunned off the forums, but Peter wondered if they could be _right_? There was also still the possibility that he had been seriously harmed by Toomes and this was all some bizarre fever dream.

_“Your distress seems to be resolving, would you like me to contact Mr. Stark?”_

“Uh, no, thanks though.” Peter said hesitantly.

She was right, his panic was slowly leaving him thanks to her distraction, his fingers and lips still felt a little numb and his heart wasn’t completely back to it’s normal rate, but he was with it enough to know that he wasn’t in any immediate danger, other that the slightly brighter red painting the water thanks to his fall that had pulled at some stitches.

“Hey, uh, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Peter asked slowly.

_“Yes Peter?”_

“Do you, um, know who I am?”

 _“My data bases report that you are Peter Benjamin Parker, son of Mary and Richard Parker, currently cared for by your Aunt May Parker. You are a STEM school student with a high GPA and thriving extracurriculars, you are a Stark Intern and you_ –”

“Wait!” Peter interrupted. “Stark intern?”

_“Yes, that is on your file.”_

“Why?” Peter asked.

_“It was added by Mr. Stark himself.”_

“Oh.” Peter mumbled. It seemed that Mr. Stark had decided to take him up on the whole paying him back for all the medical expenses thing. That was fine, he had offered to do so after all, he just hoped there would be training involved. Peter wasn’t really sure how to be an intern.

Peter carefully pulled himself back up, taking care not to let the water run down his head again, and finished washing the reminders of his horrifying ordeal down the drain.

“Well will you look at that!” Mr. Stark announced as Peter walked back into the room he had been in before, the curls at the nape of his neck dripping slightly still.

“At what?” Peter asked, freezing on the spot, what was it? Was Toomes behind him?

“You, you’re all squeaky clean and everything now, you look healthier when you’re not covered in dry blood.” Mr. Stark commented.

“Oh,” Peter mumbled, relaxing his stance and awkwardly shuffling into the middle of the room, “do you think I can go home now?”

“You know, I reckon you can, now Cho wants you to keep that sling on remember, so no teenage shenanigans. Do what she says.” Mr. Stark lectured. “Happy is going to drive you home, I would, but I doubt you want that kind of attention on you at the moment.”

It just so happened that Happy was not happy, in fact he couldn’t have looked further from it. He cast a disgruntled glance in Peter’s direction when they met, and his eyes seemed to linger on the sling on his arm for a while before he looked at Mr. Stark.

“I’m not a babysitter.” He stated.

“Come on, Hap, you know you’re the only one I trust to do this.” Mr. Stark said.

Happy seemed to look at Mr. Stark, with an expression that made Peter wish they’d just given him a fare for the subway, and he slumped his shoulders and sighed, “alright then, come on Spider-Boy.”

“It’s Spider-Man.” Peter said quickly, before falling into step beside Happy.

“My number is in that phone, Peter, so no selling it on Craigslist.” Mr. Stark called after him.

“I won’t!”

The drive home was silent, Peter would have normally talked Happy’s ear off despite not knowing the man, May often said that he had a skill to be able to make a friend out of anyone whether they wanted it or not – Peter would just ramble until they were forced to join in the conversation. However, on that particular day, Peter just wasn’t feeling it.

He couldn’t muster up the energy to even think about what he could say to the man.

Instead he was thinking about the information Mr. Stark had told him earlier that day – that The Vulture’s real name was Adrian Toomes, that he had been arrested and sent to some high security prison in a location that Peter wasn’t allowed to know of.

Peter had wanted to feel relieved, but all he felt was an overwhelming guilt. He took Liz’s dad away. He tried to reason it out to himself and remember that her father took himself away by being a criminal, but the truth was, Liz’s life was probably falling apart, and she was most likely blaming Spider-Man for it all.

“Is this it?” Happy grunted from the front of the car.

“Uh, yeah, thanks Sir.” Peter stammered out, slipping his arm out of the obnoxious sling and leaving it lying on the smooth leather seat as he slid out the door and looked at the familiar apartment complex in front of him. He thought he would never see it again.

He never thought he would see May again.

The sudden urge to see her overpowered him and he could feel the hot sting of tears prick at the back of his eyes as he surged forward, making his way up the steps. His wounds ached slightly as he moved but he was relieved to find the pain was less that when he had been in the med bay at the Avenger's Compound.

_He had been in the med bay at the Avenger's Compound._

In another world he would have been on the phone to Ned rambling about the experience to his best friend. He would have been amazed at what he had seen and the people he had met. _Tony Stark_ had reassured him. Him! Peter Parker.

“Peter!”

He was forced to stifle a shout of pain as May launched herself at him, opening the door before he had the chance to, he staggered back a few steps as to not fall over from the sudden unexpected hit.

“May.” He said quietly, through a lump in his throat.

“I was so worried,” she said as she held him close, “don’t you ever, ever, do that to me again.”

“I am so sorry, I really am.” Peter said earnestly.

“Please, kiddo, you gotta tell me where you were?” May requested.

“I… I can’t, I really wish I could,” Peter said, “but I signed an NDA.”

“That doesn’t matter though, does it?” May asked.

“Yeah, it’s legally binding, I could get into serious trouble if I say too much, May.” Peter said with wide eyes, trying to convey how serious the situation was.

“But I won’t tell anyone anything,” May said, “you know that.”

“I do,” Peter said, “and if there was only a legal risk for me then I would tell you in an instant, but you could get into trouble too.”

“Alright, alright,” May mumbled, “I don’t like this though. You’re my kid, there shouldn’t be a huge secret between us.”

“I know. I love you, May.”

“I love you too kidd- wait-” May took hold of his chin and gently angled his head towards the light, “-is that a bruise?”

“Uh, where?” Peter asked, _shit, Mr. Stark had said they’d all faded!_

“Here.” May said, tracing a finger along his jawline, it felt tender, she was most likely right.

“Uh, I don’t remember hurting it?” Peter said, feigning confusion.

“You promise to me that you weren’t hurt?”

“I promise.” Peter said.

“Alright, I believe you.” May decided. “You need to be more careful, kiddo, you worry me.”

“I’ll try.” Peter half-promised.

There was no way he would be able to completely guarantee that he wouldn’t get hurt, but he could try his best to dodge as many injuries as possible.

He made his way to his bedroom, carefully closing the door behind him and muttering a silent thanks that May’s relief had overpowered her anger, before he made his way over to his clumsily put together computer. Mr. Stark had told him that The Vulture’s real name was ‘Adrian Toomes’ and had mentioned a few things to Peter to reassure him but had said that he had bigger things to worry about – like recovering.

He loaded up a search engine and typed in: _Adrian Toomes_ while hoping that the news was big enough that that would be enough to find the information he wanted.

RESPECTED BUSINESSMAN AND FATHER STEALS IRON MAN’S PLANE AND DESTROYS CONEY ISLAND

ADRIAN TOOMES: INSIDE THE CRIMINAL MIND

TOOMES CRASHES BILLIONAIRE’S PLANE AFTER FAILED THEFT

SPIDER-MAN STOPS THIEF

SPIDER-MAN: LOCAL MENACE STRIKES AGAIN

Ah, there was The Bugle. Peter could always count on them to bash him, it was actually reassuring because despite everything, the world was still normal.

Peter clicked on the first link, the article flashed up in a few moments, and Peter was faced with pictures from that night. There was a mixture of pictures that were taken at night and through the day. The daytime ones were easy to distance himself from, they reminded him of walking past that bank with Ned after fighting the fake Avengers, but the night ones were a whole other ball game.

They were raw and real, and Peter couldn’t help but feel like he was back there. It was as though he could smell the oil, smoke and sweat, he could feel the burning of the flames and feel the pressure of knowing people’s lives would be affected by however he handled that fight with The Vulture.

There were pictures of the wingsuit that the man had used, the talons were painted with a rusty coloured substance that Peter automatically recognised. He could feel the phantom pain of them piercing his shoulders.

“Oh,” he mumbled as he held his shoulder with one hand, “alright, this is fine.”

It was, he was ok. Sure, he felt as though he was suffocating again, and he could almost _hear_ the crackling of the flames around him, but he was absolutely fine. Mr. Stark didn’t know anything, he didn’t know what Peter was going through and he had no idea what he was talking about when it came to ‘panic attacks’.

 _Except he went through a lot when he was missing and presumed dead in Afghanistan,_ Peter thought.

He clicked back to the search engine and erased Toomes’ name from the search bar only to type ‘panic attacks’ instead.

There were a lot of links. Too many. An overwhelming amount.

“I shouldn’t be bothering with this.” Peter mumbled.

Instead of closing the web browser down like any normal person would have, Peter leaned down and yanked the computer’s plug from the socket. The machine died instantly, the search evidence disappearing from existence and leaving behind a relieving blank screen.

He was fine. He was absolutely fine.

Mr. Stark was obviously just expecting him to be messed up because he had been from his own trauma, but Peter was different. There was no guarantee that he would deal with his situation in the same way that Mr. Stark had because they were two completely different people.

So, with that in mind, Peter forced himself away from his desk and face planted his bed, groaning at the jolt the movement caused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! please let me know what you thought here or on tumblr @[ephemeralstark](https://ephemeralstark.tumblr.com/)!! i appreciate your time so much, you're all gems!


	11. back to school

“No!”

Peter gasped, taking in a deep lungful of sweet air; he was alright, he could breathe, he wasn’t buried under tonnes of concrete and jagged metal as his vivid dream had suggested. There was no pain radiating through his bones, or blood staining his teeth and leaving behind a metallic taste.

The sweat coating his skin was cooling in the breeze that came through his window. The curtains wafted gently, something that had once been a reassuring sight to a young Peter who told his Uncle Ben that the night sprites were dancing in his window, but now, it filled him with terror. He could hear and see that he was alone in the room, but that open window was a chance for The Vulture to sneak his way in.

Did Toomes know where he lived?

Had he told anyone Peter’s identity?

Mr. Stark had denied the possibility, but what if Toomes had lied to him? He was a criminal – they weren’t exactly renowned for their honesty.

What if Toomes had told Mr. Stark that no one else knew about Peter’s identity and then he went and told his criminal buddies where to find him? Was he putting May’s life at risk by being there?

_Oh god, oh god, oh god, I have to do something!_

He leapt to his feet, the floorboards creaked familiarly beneath his socks, a sound that had once made him worry that his aunt and uncle would hear that he was up after his bedtime, but now it comforted him and reminded him that he was home. It was a normal noise.

Peter quickly made up his mind and lunged for his new phone, pulling up the contacts that he had saved on the ride home from the Avenger’s Compound.

“Wha- ‘ello?” A slurred response came, only a few seconds after Peter had clicked call.

“Hey, man, it’s me.”

“Peter, dude, what the hell?” All traces of sleepiness seemed to disappear from Ned’s voice as it got significantly louder. “I’ve been trying to call you for ages, but it wouldn’t go through at all, I thought-”

Ned broke off with a choked noise that struck sorrow in Peter’s chest. He’d done that. He had been the one to scare his friend.

“I’m sorry man, I asked Mr. Stark to contact you, or at least I think I did?” Peter’s memories were a little hazy after arriving at the compound, he had spent a lot of time drifting in and out of consciousness.

“Mr. Stark?” Ned asked. “Wait. What? Peter you need to explain right now.”

“Uh, I um, maybe crashed his plane and almost uh, died?” Peter said quickly, hoping that Ned would just conveniently not hear any of it.

“You…” Apparently Peter was having no such luck. “Peter you what? You crashed a plane? You almost died? What? Dude!”

“I know, I know,” Peter said quickly, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

“You almost died dude; I think I can forgive you.” Ned said.

“How did you not realise?” Peter asked. “Its all over the news, haven’t you seen the headlines?”

“Uh no.” Ned’s voice wavered, he was hiding something.

“Ned? What happened?”

“So, uh, you know how I was being your guy in the chair and totally doing an awesome job at it?” Ned asked.

“Yeah…”

“Well, there may have been a moment when one of the teachers walked in and I may have panicked and said I was watching porn and my mom may have been called and she may have turned off the Wi-Fi and threatened to take my phone if I even thought about using the internet on it, and she’d know dude, she always knows.”

“Ned, you’re a disaster.” Peter said seriously, but he felt the weight on his shoulders lift a little as he thought about how much worse Ned’s plight was than his own.

Sure, Peter had almost died and had put his life at risk for the rest of his days, but Ned’s parents thought he went to Homecoming to watch porn on the school computers. That was worse, but it also reminded Peter of his reason for calling.

“Hey, man, I did actually call for a reason.” Peter admitted, Toomes’ potential to destroy his family returning to his mind.

“Is it important?” Ned asked. “It’s like 3am, can’t it wait until school tomorrow? Today, rather.”

Peter paused for a moment, could it wait? If he needed to leave then he wouldn’t be going to school ever again, he would be removing himself from his family and friends’ lives. He would be gone for good, _but_ he wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye, not yet.

“Yeah, dude, it can wait,” he said quietly, “sorry for waking you.”

“No worries, it’s good to know you’re alive.” Ned said. “See you tomorrow!”

“Yeah, see you.”

Click.

Silence.

Or as near as it ever got to silent for Peter, he could always sense the faint hum of electricity in the air and hear the cars on the streets outside, he could hear May’s every breath and heartbeat and the shuffling movements of Mrs. Grehan upstairs as she made her way around her apartment – May said that she had dementia and often woke through the night not realising that it was still time to sleep. Sometimes they would get her grocery shopping in for her, just to make sure she had plenty of food.

Would Toomes hurt her too?

How many people would be at risk if Peter stayed? How many people would be even more at risk if he left?

At least if he stuck around, he could protect them, he could sacrifice his own life to protect theirs, if that would even be enough.

After all, it was only a matter of time before Toomes broke free, or before one of his minions decided to tie up all the loose ends, would they settle for Peter’s life? Or would they want to destroy everything and everyone Peter loved before finally taking him out too.

Peter’s mind was made up, he couldn’t run away, not now, not when people needed him the most. But he also couldn’t let his guard down, he needed to stay awake and alert at all times. He couldn’t let anyone slip by, he couldn’t, he just couldn’t.

This was his fault, so it would be his responsibility to fix.

Carefully, he closed the window, and for the first time since becoming Spider-Man, he made sure it was properly bolted. He couldn’t risk anyone sneaking in, not when he was still recovering from his injuries, sure; the bruises had faded and the cuts were scabbing over, but he could still _feel_ them, and he was still limited by the pain.

After, triple checking that the window wouldn’t open, he made his way out of his room and down the hall to where May’s bedroom could be found. He could hear that he was alright, he could hear her steady heartbeat and deep, slow breaths, he logically knew that there was nothing to worry about. Yet, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her closed door, he leaned against the wall opposite it and slid down to the floor, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on his knees.

_It’s alright, May,_ he thought, _I’m not letting anyone by._

The night was long sitting there, occasionally he felt his eyes droop and had to bite back a yawn, it was exhausting doing nothing.

Every now and then Peter would allow the thoughts he had previously been trying to block through, he would let those green laser eyes flash in his mind, and he would allow himself to acknowledge the swooping feeling of falling in his tummy. Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest way to stay awake but reminding himself of what awaited him in his dreams was highly effective.

_Would Mr. Stark agree? No, probably not, but what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him._

The only indicator of the passage of time was the slowly brightening sky outside, allowing light to filter under the blinds and light up the walls with slowly yellowing hues of purple and blue.

Eventually May began to stir, that meant her alarm would be going off soon, she always started to wake up a few minutes before she was meant to. When Peter had asked how that was possible, she had laughed and shrugged and told him that it was an adult thing, some day he would be the same.

_If I live that long,_ Peter’s mind whispered nastily, _no I can’t think like that. Not yet. I have to protect them._

Carefully, Peter hauled himself back to his feet, moving as gently as he could as to not make any noises that would alert May to his whereabouts. It would definitely worry her to find him sitting outside her door, and he’d already scared her enough lately.

He was just waiting for the conversation about his recent behaviour, she definitely wasn’t going to allow him to escape from that. He couldn’t blame her, she deserved to know the answers to her questions, but for her safety, Peter couldn’t really say he would be able to give her anything other than lies.

Peter carefully closed his bedroom door as May’s alarm blared. It was _loud_ – too loud for his sensitive ears but he wouldn’t be able to tell her that.

Peter counted the seconds. Exactly 48 of them passed and then…

“Rise and shine troublemaker!” May called. “I want you up and dressed in twenty, I’m making breakfast today.”

_Oh no._

“I’m gonna need verbal confirmation that you’re awake Peter.”

“I’m up.” Peter confirmed, glad that his voice sounded hoarse and as though he had just woken up, thanks to lack of use overnight – other than that call with Ned.

“Twenty.” May said once again, making sure that he wouldn’t be late.

She was reinforcing time limits _and_ making breakfast? None of this was adding up to anything good, if she was making sure he was at breakfast early then she wanted to talk, and if she was making breakfast then she was removing the possibility of him grabbing a granola bar as he left.

Whatever she was up to, she meant business.

Peter grabbed a shirt off the floor and with a quick sniff, he declared it clean enough for the day and quickly changed, not wanting to be late to breakfast.

“Morning,” he mumbled as he walked into the kitchen, trying to smooth down his curls as he did so, he had a relatively good amount of success – who knew that not staying in bed all night was the cure to his hair problems? 

“Hey, Kiddo, take a seat,” May said, before placing a flour coated bread roll on the plate in front of him, “I made bacon sandwiches for breakfast.”

_Is bacon meant to be black? May you had less than twenty minutes, how did you even manage to burn it this much?_

“Thanks,” Peter mumbled, opening the lid and squirting an unhealthy amount of ketchup on top to cover the taste of charcoal, “I’m starving.”

“So, I did a lot of thinking last night.” May said.

_Great, we’re getting right into it then I guess._

“Alright, what did you think about?”

“I was thinking I’ve been too lax with you,” May murmured, “now before you get all teenager-y and defensive, I’m not saying that you’re a bad kid, I’m just saying that you’re reaching a point in your life where you’ll be facing peer pressure from your friends and other kids.

“You’re a smart boy, and you have the ability to go as far as you want in life, and I’ll be damned if a bit of teenage angst gets in the way of that.”

“May I-” Peter was cut off instantly.

“No. Sorry, Peter, I don’t mean to snap, but I need to do the talking here.” May said, Peter nodded and motioned for her to go on. “Right, so, as I was saying, I think we need to start communicating properly.

“You cant keep disappearing through the night and not telling me where you’re going, I’ve been worried sick, I was hoping you were just doing that teenager thing where you fall in love and sneak out to see them and all that jazz, but you’re coming home injured. I know I mentioned all of this the other day, but kiddo, where are you going?”

“I told you the other day,” Peter said, “I’m taking photos of Spider-Man for extra money.”

“But the injuries?” May asked.

“Spider-Man doesn’t really patrol in the safe parts of town.” Peter mumbled, feeling guilty for lying and causing her to worry so much.

“Peter, you’re going to kill me, you’re actually going to stress me out to the point of death.” May decided.

“I’m sorry,” Peter murmured. _So much for “And if it’s a hobby you enjoy, it doesn't have to be ‘a serious thing’, I’m just happy if you’re happy.”_

“I know you are, I just, I don’t know, Peter.” May murmured, rubbing her forehead with her hand and sighing.

“I promise you; I’m not doing anything illegal, I’m not on drugs, I’m not joining a gang.”

“I’m worried about you.” May said.

“I promise I’m alright.” Peter said.

“I know, but I’m the adult here, and I’m the one who has to take responsibility for you.” May said. “So, I’m enforcing a curfew.”

“What?” Peter protested. “May, c’mon, I’m not doing anything bad!”

“9pm on school nights, 10pm on weekends.” May continued, ignoring his protests.

“May, come on! This is crazy, that’s barely any time at all!”

“ _If_ you’re maintaining grades and taking part in your extracurriculars then I might expand it, but I have to _do_ something here, you went _missing._ Missing! For almost 24 hours. Do you know how frantic I was? I understand that you can’t tell me anything, I researched NDAs last night, and I may not be happy about it, but I get it.” May said. “But between the sneaking out and going to rough areas, and you disappearing, I have to do something.”

“But creating a tight curfew like that? I’m not doing anything bad!”

“I’m not going to be the one to bury my kid!” May said, shutting down the conversation.

Peter couldn’t face anymore of his sandwich, not because it was burnt and disgusting, but because his stomach was twisting with guilt as a tear slid down May’s face and dripped onto the tabletop. He’d done that, he’d made her cry, because he couldn’t tell her anything.

But why? Why should he keep Spider-Man a secret? His ongoing answer to that was always because May would be in danger if she knew, but was she not in danger regardless? Especially now that Toomes knew his identity.

A small, dark part of Peter knew that his main reason for not telling her the truth was because he was scared she would stop him, and after this morning, he felt that he was right to be concerned about that.

“There’s more I want to say,” May said, “but I think that’s enough for now, you don’t want to be late for school. Leave your plate, I’ll sort it.”

Peter had thought his earlier lie about taking up photography would have covered him, but here he was facing a curfew, and being closely watched by May.

“Alright, thanks,” Peter mumbled, abandoning his barely touched sandwich in favour of grabbing his school bag to leave.

It was strange to walk to school, to have his schoolbag strewn haphazardly over one shoulder, to stroll along his usual streets that were so painfully familiar and yet so harshly different. Or maybe, it was him who was different, it had only been a day or so, and yet here he was, a changed person.

He was on high alert, scanning the shadows and the alleys for sinister faces and glowing eyes, waiting for someone to creep up on him, his Spidey-Sense was quiet and trying to reassure him that he was safe, but he refused to believe it. How could he trust it? He was sure that there was danger all around him, maybe it was faulty?

“Dude!” Peter jumped a mile as a hand came down on his shoulder.

Ned. It was only Ned. Why hadn’t he been alerted? What if Ned had been a threat? _But it’s Ned, he’s never a danger to me, he’s my guy in the chair._

“Oh my god, dude, this is all so crazy, I can’t believe what you did! I saw the news this morning while I had breakfast and all of the newspapers are covered in pictures, like what? You were there? Peter, you could have died!”

“Ned, shush, keep your voice down,” Peter said, glancing around quickly, no one seemed to care about Ned’s outburst, “I have a secret to maintain remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ned said apologetically, before seemingly looking at Peter closer, “hey, man, are you ok? You look tired?”

“I haven’t had the most restful few days,” Peter reminded him.

“I know, you were awake real late last night, what was it you wanted to ask by the way?” Ned asked.

“It’s not important,” Peter said, he’d made his mind up to protect his friends and family, “but guess what May decided?”

“What?”

“She’s giving me a curfew.” Peter said.

It was comforting to see Ned’s face drop, as though he was the one being given the curfew, he really was a great friend.

“What?” Ned complained, “Peter, no, Spider-Man can’t be given a curfew. Crime doesn’t stop at a set time.”

“I know.” Peter said, trying to remove the traces of a whine from his voice – he wasn’t as successful as he’d hoped.

“What does she expect?” Ned asked. “That you can just be like, ‘hey criminals my aunt says I have to be home early tonight, so can you just, like, not be bad, ok thanks’ because that won’t work. Or at least I don’t think it will, maybe you should try it though.”

“Uh, Ned, she doesn’t know about Spider-Man.” Peter reminded him.

“Oh, yeah, do you think she’d change her mind if she did?”

“I’m not telling her.” Peter said, before he could get any ideas.

“Fair, fair, it’s your identity.” Ned said with a nod.

“I just don’t know what to do, I feel so bad, she’s been worried for a while now, man.”

“I mean you can stay home this week and put her mind at ease a little,” Ned said.

“How’d you figure?”

“I saw those pictures, Peter, you’re suit needs some serious TLC after that.”

His suit!

“Ned!” Peter said frantically. “I don’t have it anymore! Mr. Stark still has it, I gotta text him to get it back.”

“You have Tony Stark’s number?” Ned asked, prioritising the information he had been told in a typical Ned fashion.

“Yes, but that’s not the important thing here, I don’t have my suit.” Peter said.

“So, take some time off, Peter you deserve a break.”

“I suppose.” Peter mumbled.

He could take some time off, not to mend his suit or to create a new one, although he’d probably do that too after all Mr. Stark had suggested making one to him earlier, but he could take the time to keep an eye on May.

Maybe that would be alright, to take a break to protect his family, no one could hold that against him, could they?

Still, though, he needed to make sure that he got his suit back.

Ignoring Ned’s yapping about the latest Lego set his mom had bought him, he fished his phone out and quickly typed out a text to Mr. Stark.

_Hey, it’s Peter Parker here, I was just wondering if you still have my ‘suit’?_

Was that too familiar? Peter didn’t know, but he pressed send anyway and slid the phone back in his pocket. Ned had moved onto complaining about his mom’s new high fibre diet plan that the whole family was being put on. Apparently, the cereal was gross.

“Yeah, that’s because you live on sugar covered cornflakes.” Peter said with a snort, as he seamlessly jumped back into the conversation.

“It’s disgusting without the sugar, and I don’t get it, this is just like the time she thought we should cut out potatoes. I went two weeks without mash, Pete, two weeks!”

“Don’t call me that!” Peter snapped, feeling as though he was suddenly standing at the edge of a tunnel and staring down it at Ned.

“Huh? What? Since when don’t you like to be called Pete?”

“Stop it!” Peter choked out, he could see the school just ahead, but suddenly it disappeared from view.

Ned had manhandled him into an alleyway, something that would have normally been impossible, but in Peter’s breathless, distracted state, it was easily done.

“Peter, calm down.” Ned said frantically. “What’s happening? Is it your asthma? Has it come back? Do you even still carry your inhaler? Peter come on, talk to me dude.”

“I would-” Peter gasped, “-if I… could get a… word in.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Ned mumbled, before quieting.

Peter felt the wall behind him, digging his fingers into the concrete to ground himself. It was real, he was in an alleyway by his school, he could hear the bustling sounds of all the kids saying hello to each other, he was safe.

“It’s alright.” Peter said after a few moments of breathing slowly.

“What was that?” Ned asked quietly, sounding as though he was scared to ask.

“Mr. Stark says they’re panic attacks,” Peter mumbled, feeling his face flush as he admitted his weakness to his best friend, “but I don’t know, I was googling them last night and it doesn’t add up. Panic attacks are pretty serious things, and I’m fine.”

“Peter, I don’t know how that all felt for you, but speaking as an observer, that was not fine.” Ned said. “You weren’t breathing right, I thought you were gonna- I thought I’d need to call an ambulance or something. Has that happened in front of May?”

“No, and it won’t.” Peter said certainly.

“How can you be sure, I _know_ you Peter, I know that you wouldn’t have wanted to do that in front of me if you’d had the choice.” Ned said.

“You took me by surprise.” Peter said defensively.

“It could happen to you in front of May too, she calls you P- _that_ name sometimes too, I’ve heard her.” Ned said, speaking nothing but the truth, not that Peter was ready to accept that yet.

“I’m controlling it.” Peter snapped.

“Alright, alright,” Ned said, backing off.

“We should get to school.”

Ned nodded, and handed Peter his backpack, weird, he hadn’t even realised that he’d dropped it. He was really out of it at the moment, maybe it was a good thing he didn’t have his Spider-Man suit, would he even be safe enough to go out? Would he help anyone in his state?

No, he wasn’t in any state.

He was fine. People just needed to stop giving him unwanted nicknames, that was the problem, if people would just use his name then he wouldn’t be panicking.

Peter’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

**1 new message: Mr. Stark**

_Sorry, Kid, it’s in scraps, unless Spider-Man is going for a caveman look I think you need to start fresh. Happy will pick you up after school. Don’t be late._

Conflicting mixtures of excitement and worry swirled through Peter as the bell rang, signalling the start of classes. He vaguely heard Ned mutter goodbye as he went his separate way to his locker, maybe Peter should have said something. He could have thanked him or apologised, hell, he could have even just said goodbye, but instead he stayed lost in his own mind.

He was going to be picked up by Mr. Stark’s head of security, that was something amazing, and his nerdy little heart was doing flips as he thought about all the possibilities that came with it, was he going to the compound? Was Mr. Stark going to see him? was there an Avengers mission? Was Spider-Man being recruited?

But also, if he went then who would keep an eye on May?

What if Toomes had escaped and that’s why Mr. Stark wanted to see him? What if while Peter was safe in the compound Toomes or one of his men took May? What if they hurt her? What if they killed her?

Without May he had no one and Peter was _scared_.

Should he say no? Accepting that he would be late to his first clash, he dipped into the restroom and typed out a quick reply to Mr. Stark:

_Sorry, Sir, May has given me a curfew so I can’t be out after 9pm._

Apparently, Mr. Stark had expected the reply.

_Don’t worry, Happy is taking you home, I’ll meet you there. Get to class._

And then, a moment later:

_And don’t call me Sir, I’m not old enough for that yet._

Well, that didn’t reassure Peter as much as Mr. Stark had intended. Happy was taking him home? Why? And why was Mr. Stark planning to meet him there? Did that mean he was going to talk to May? Was he going to tell her about Spider-Man?

Anger flooded through Peter’s veins; he had no right to do that. It was Peter’s secret to keep and tell, he shouldn’t be allowed to undermine him like that. He couldn’t tell her!

With that added worry, Peter furiously made his way to class, and maybe he accidentally opened the bathroom door a little too heavy handed, and left a door handle shaped divot in the wall behind it.

How could Mr. Stark do this to him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who is reading and leaving comments and kudos! you guys are making my day, and I'm overwhelmed by the response this fic is getting!!
> 
> come find me on tumblr @[ephemeralstark](https://ephemeralstark.tumblr.com/)


	12. An Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your patience with the updates, life is a little crazy at the moment and work is exhausting me (even though I adore it)

By the end of the day, Peter had worked himself into quite a state.

Ned had asked him a few times if he was alright, but Peter had been unable to answer properly, instead giving a tight nod and looking anywhere but in his best friend's eyes. He wasn’t sure why he bothered, it was obvious that Ned know something was up, why else would he be constantly asking? 

He didn’t understand. It wasn’t his fault; how could Peter expect him to know how he was feeling? Ned wasn’t Spider-Man. He didn’t _know,_ but he had seen Peter’s panic that morning, and the concerned edge in his eyes wasn’t going anywhere, they both knew that.

As the bell rang signalling their freedom for yet another day, Peter felt a pang of guilt as he raced away from Ned who was talking endlessly about something to do with Star Wars - a topic that would normally have Peter completely enamoured and invested in the conversation, but on that day he couldn’t focus. He’d appreciated Ned’s attempt to give Peter some normality to latch onto, but he _had_ to get home. 

So, when he saw it, he took the chance to escape, racing out of the back doors of the school where he was met with a loud, "Parker!"

Happy - Mr. Stark's... driver? Security guard? Something at least, had called out his name. 

He was standing there by an extremely flashy looking silver Audi, waving a hand in the air briefly before he disappeared into the driver's seat. Peter assumed that was his cue to get in, so Peter did. Even though he had been desperate to get home, he was dreading making it back.

Happy being there meant that Mr. Stark was already speaking to Peter’s aunt, so no matter what he would be too late to save his identity.

He slid into the back seat, letting his backpack rest on the floor by his feet.

"Uh, hi?" Peter mumbled, the words coming out as more of a question than he'd intended.

"We aren't talking." Happy said, doing his best to end the conversation.

"Oh, uh, ok," Peter said, "why not?"

"That's talking," Happy said, "and because, I don't want to."

"That's…fair." Peter mumbled, looking out the window at the slightly dark world - window tints were weird he decided, they made the overcast sky look grey and gloomy, much like Peter’s current mood.

"Hm." Was the only reply Happy gave as he pressed a button on the dashboard that allowed him to raise a partition between then both.

_Well, alright then,_ Peter thought as he tried his best not to work himself up about what he may be going home to.

To no avail.

His brain seemed to cycle over everything over and over again. He could imagine the look on May's face when he walked in and she looked at him with the knowledge that she was very much aware of where he had been going every night.

She would know that he was the masked vigilante that The Bugle hated so much, he was the reason that Mr. Delmar had lost his livelihood, he was the reason that May's tube to work had been late that one morning and her boss had been in a bad mood and had given her a formal warning.

He was the reason for a lot of the chaos in their lives. But then, wasn’t that true for him anyway? Peter Parker was just as much of a disruption in May’s life as Spider-Man would be, but her knowing about Spider-Man would mean knowing that he was lying about everything.

Not only that but he would cause her extra stress, she would worry about his safety every time he put on the suit and maybe she would even want him to stop so she could guarantee his safety. Wasn’t that her job as his guardian? To ensure that he was safe.

Mr. Stark was ruining everything, he'd said that he was there to help but he was destroying Peter's life.

Tears burned at the corners of his eyes, and Peter blinked, trying to force them back – he was just tired, that was why he was struggling to stop himself from sobbing in the back of Mr. Stark's car.

He supposed he must have looked pretty bad as there was a faint beep and then a whirring noise as Happy lowered the partition between them.

"So, uh, kid," Happy said apprehensively, Peter supposed he wasn't really around kids much, he didn’t have a need to be with his job, "how was, um, school?"

Peter appreciated the lifeline he'd been thrown and latched onto it immediately, "oh, it was fine, I guess. My friend, Ned, he was there-" of course he was there, Peter mentally slapped his forehead, way to suit like an idiot, "-and MJ she's another friend of mine, she wasn't there until after lunch because she had the dentist, but that was lucky for her I guess because we had a surprise quiz in Chem, I don't really know how I did."

"Chemistry? You like that?"

"Yeah, I do Chemistry and Physics," Peter said, "I do the best in Chemistry though, but the quiz we got was on next semester's subjects because the teacher wanted to assess how much studying we're doing at home. Apparently, she's looking for the students who show the most initiative to be nominated for a competition that's gonna be held in California."

"So did you do good?" Happy asked, seeming to relax with Peter's constant rambling, and lack of comments on Happy's awkwardness.

"I don't know, none of the subjects that came up were unfamiliar, because I've finished reading the textbook. But, I'm not entirely sure that my understanding was concrete enough to grab me a top three spot." Peter admitted. "Although if Flash gets a space and I don't I'll never hear the end of it. He's still bitter that I have a higher rank in Decathlon than he does."

"Flash?"

"Yeah, a kid in my class, his real name is Eugene, but he asked everyone to call him flash a few years ago and back then nicknames were super cool, and it just stuck." Peter said with a shrug.

"Flash is a stupid nickname." Happy grunted. "Is he a quick runner?"

"No, uh, we're a highly academic school," Peter said, "no one is particularly athletic."

"So why 'Flash'?" Happy wondered.

"I don't know, I've never asked." Peter said.

"Well why not?"

"He's not the most pleasant person to talk to." Peter admitted.

"Ah, I get it," Happy said with a self-satisfied nod, apparently proud of himself for figuring something out, although he didn’t seem keen on sharing what that something was with Peter. 

Peter didn’t say anything further, settling back into the comfortable leather seat and staring out the window, he appreciated Happy's attempts to distract him - it had been successful to most extents, after all, he had successfully avoided crying but worry still plagued his mind.

Happy was cautious and awkward, but Peter was sure that if he had the time, he'd be able to soften the man's hard exterior. That would have been nice, the man was gruff and a little standoffish, but Peter could _tell_ there was something more hidden in him.

It was just a shame that he’d never get to find out what that was if Mr. Stark exposed his secret. May would most likely be keeping him locked away in his bedroom like some kind of teenage superhero Rapunzel - he wouldn't even be allowed to see Ned anymore.

"Kid, we're here." Happy said.

Huh, Peter hadn't even noticed the car stopping, but Happy was right. There was his apartment complex, and in there would be May and Mr. Stark. As soon as he walked in, all of his hopes and dreams would be crushed. He wouldn't be _him_ anymore, he wouldn't be allowed to be Spider-Man.

“Uh, thanks, Happy.” Peter mumbled as he got out of the car, backpack hanging over one arm.

He barely registered the quiet, “don’t mention it, Kid.”

He wished that he could be anywhere else in that moment, that he could be high up on a skyscraper in his Spider-Man suit looking over the city, or walking into Mr. Delmar’s old shop to buy his favourite sandwich, but instead he was walking to his doom. Alright, maybe that was a tad overdramatic, but it was what the situation felt like to Peter.

He decided to take the stairs instead, prolonging the inevitable for an extra few minutes - not that it mattered, with his Spider-Man stamina, it took less time than waiting for the elevator would have. Inevitably, he found himself standing outside his front door door, his enhanced hearing picking up on the sounds of two people talking.

“I can’t believe he never told me about this!” May’s voice filtered through the wood, piercing through Peter’s heart – she knew.

By the sounds of Mr. Stark’s mumbled agreements, she’d known for a while and had been repeating that phrase to herself a few times. Why had Mr. Stark done this to him? It was completely unfair. It hadn’t been his secret to tell, he’d had no right to even talk to May.

“Peter should be home soon,” May said, sounding strangely at ease with Tony Stark sitting in her living room, “he knows I’m not exactly pleased with him right now, so I don’t think we can expect any long detours.”

_She doesn’t know Mr. Stark sent Happy to pick me up? That’s a weird thing to keep secret._ Peter observed.

With a final breath of fresh air – or mostly fresh air, the apartment complex always had a faint musty smell that only Peter seemed to be able to pick up on – he opened the door and walked in. he was instantly hit in the face by the aroma of coffee, May must have made some for Mr. Stark as she very rarely had it herself, she was more of a tea person.

“May?” He called out needlessly, she would have known he was home the second the door had opened.

“Peter, speak of the devil!” Mr. Stark called out, sounding ridiculously happy.

“Hey, how was school today, honey?” May asked as Peter walked through the kitchen to the living room, dumping his backpack in the open archway.

“Fine,” Peter said, wondering why she didn’t look angry, “what’s, uh, going on?”

“Oh Tony was just telling me all about your internship,” May said with an exasperated eye roll in Peter’s direction, “you do realise if you’d just told me about it, I wouldn’t have been mad.”

_Tony? She’s calling him Tony?_

“Yeah, Kiddo,” Mr. Stark agreed, shooting him a conspiratorial wink, “when I said to keep the internship on the down low, I didn’t mean to keep it from your family. Just, not to blab about it to your entire school. I didn’t need a group of whiny parents complaining that their kid was just as special and needed to work for me because blah blah blah.”

_Internship?_

Peter was feeling incredibly lost.

“I can’t believe he let me think he was out there doing photography,” May groaned.

“I can’t believe that you believed that,” Mr. Stark said with a snort, “I tried to get him to take some pictures of up and coming projects for the Stark Industries website and you wouldn’t believe how blurry they turned out.”

“Oh, I bet I would,” May said with a laugh, “Peter was the science competition’s photographer three years ago, they ended up redoing it a month later because all of his photos were too grainy or blurry to use.”

“And you still bought his lie?” Mr. Stark asked.

“Well, Tony, it was better than any of the alternatives,” May said with a shrug, “I guess I would rather believe he’d gotten some skills than think he was out there doing a heroin.”

“ _A_ heroin?”

“Shut up.”

Peter’s mind was spinning in circles and he felt the panic creeping up over him, it was almost like one of them had called him P- _that name_ , but no one had. So why was he feeling so out of control? Why was his breath coming out in short gasps? Why did his face feel numb and the ground look so far away and distant?

“Anyways, Peter,” Mr. Stark said, throwing him a lifeline and trying to give him something to focus on, “come on through to your room with me, I want to see the computer that won you the internship.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea, I would’ve shown you earlier, but I don’t even know how the damn thing turns on.” May said.

Peter let Mr. Stark guide him by the shoulder down towards his bedroom, he was sure he should have wondered how exactly Mr. Stark knew where to go, but he was too busy forcing himself to take deep, steady breaths. He couldn’t lose it in his home, not when May was just in the other room.

“She doesn’t know?” Peter asked as soon as the door was shut behind them.

“Know what?” Mr. Stark asked.

“About me, about Spider-Man.” Peter said, lowering his voice even though there was no chance May would hear anything, she hadn’t even left the living room. He could hear her gathering the used cups together.

“What? No, why would she?” Mr. Stark asked, his eyes zeroing in on Peter’s makeshift computer. 

“I don’t know,” Peter lied with a shrug, “I just had a feeling.”

“Huh,” Mr. Stark said as he sat down at Peter’s desk and poked the on button, “I wasn’t planning to tell her anything, Kid.”

“Really?” Peter asked, before clamping his mouth shut and flushing red. Had he really just second-guessed Iron Man?

“Really.” Mr. Stark confirmed as he poked the button again, frowning when nothing happened.

“It’s, uh, not plugged in.” Peter told him.

“Why not?” Mr. Stark asked, thankfully he didn’t appear to expect an answer as he continued talking after a few minutes as though Peter hadn’t looked away from him in favour of staring out the window. “You know, I wasn’t wrong, this thing is pretty damn decent.”

“It is?” Peter asked, cocking his head to the side and returning his attention to the man at his desk.

“Yeah, I read all about it on your science fair application from last year,” Mr. Stark said, “but nowhere did it mention that you made it from electronics you’d found in the garbage.”

“My school is kinda snobby,” Peter said with a small shrug, “I don’t like to give people reasons not to treat me equally.”

“I get that,” Mr. Stark said with a nod, “but you only applied, when you were approved you should have entered. Why didn’t you?”

“Oh, uh,” Peter rubbed the back of his neck, “reasons. You know?”

“Oh,” Mr. Stark seemed to get it, seemed to understand that there was a reason that the Parker’s – while they managed financially – couldn’t afford the $50 submission fee, “well, it was probably a sucky science fair anyway.”

It wasn’t. there was a reason kids had to _apply_ to take part. Winning that science fair was a sure fire way to get into any Ivy League school.

“So, why did you actually come here?” Peter asked after a moment.

“Better question,” Mr. Stark said, waving Peter’s one away, “why did you nearly lose it back there?”

“Lose it?” Peter asked, feigning confusion. “Lose what?”

“Peter, come on, don’t try to fool me. I’m smarter than that.” Mr. Stark said, turning to raise an eyebrow at Peter who looked like a kid who’d caught his hand in the cookie jar. “I saw you; I saw your breathing pick up, you looked as though you wanted nothing more than to launch yourself out of the window. So, what set that off?”

“I just-” Peter sat down on the side of his bed with a huff, why did Mr. Stark even care? “I don’t know, I guess it was all just a bit too much.”

“Me being here?” Mr. Stark asked.

“No,” Peter shook his head, “not you being here, but just- I thought you were going to _tell her_.”

“Tell her w- oh,” Mr. Stark leaned back in Peter’s crappy desk chair, rubbing a hand over his face, the chair creaked angrily at the movement, “kid, that’s your secret, not mine. Do I think she should know? Yes-” Mr. Stark held up a hand to prevent Peter’s prepared protests, “- but is it my place to tell her anything? Hell no. Look, Kiddo, I know you’re not ok.”

“I am.” Peter said quickly.

“No, you’re not,” Mr. Stark said, “but I’m not going to expose all your secrets in the hopes that that’ll fix anything. I want you to feel like you can trust me.”

“I know I can.” Peter said, ignoring the uncomfortable voice in the back of his head that whispered, _do you though? Are you sure this isn’t all hero worship?_

“I don’t think you do, but we’ll get there,” Mr. Stark said, “for now, May will think that all your late nights are just you and me losing track of time in the labs, and I’ve told her that we’re working on new safety protocols thanks to you tinkering with my robots and ending up with a few bruises and black eyes.”

“You’ve given me an out?” Peter asked.

“Well, mostly. I’ve given you a reason to stay out a little later than your curfew – but be careful because if you upset your aunt, she may cut your ‘intern’ hours.” Mr. Stark warned him, Peter nodded eagerly. “Also, I do want some time in the labs with you.”

“You- you do?”

That was… surprising.

“Yeah, I’ve got a rough plan for a Spider-Man suit already sketched out.” _how?_ Peter wondered, when had the man even slept? Maybe that was a bit hypocritical of him. “But I want your input on it before we work out more details, and you’re going to be there to help build it of course.”

“Really?” Peter asked, his knees vibrating with excitement.

“Absolutely, so your out wasn’t completely an out,” Mr. Stark said with a smile, “I still want some of your time.”

Peter grinned, that didn’t seem so bad, in fact it was quite the opposite, he was excited.

“Alright, alright, knock that cheesy grin off your face,” Mr. Stark said, “you’d think that I’d said Christmas was coming early.”

“That wouldn’t be so exciting.” Peter said with a shrug.

“Don’t kids dream of that?”

“If Christmas came early this year, then would it be early next year? Or would we just have to wait longer between Christmases?” Peter asked. “Because Christmas isn’t just a day, it is a religious-”

“Alright, alright, calm down Wikipedia.” Mr. Stark said standing up from the chair. “It was a simple question, why’d you have to overthink it?”

“I wasn’t?” Peter said, his words coming out as more of a question than a statement.

“Alright, sure, your brain must be exhausting.” Mr. Stark decided, “well, I guess I best get going, Happy gets all antsy when I make him wait for too long.”

“He talked to me today.” Peter said, not really feeling sure why he felt the need to tell Mr. Stark that.

“Aw, look at you, you’re growing on him like a little limpet.” Mr. Stark said, ruffling his hair.

Peter let out a squawk of indignation, before following Mr. Stark out of his room.

“Well, May, thank you for letting me borrow your nephew but I really must be going.” Mr. Stark said as he walked through their little apartment as though he’d been there for years.

“Oh, already?” May asked, looking disappointed, “I was going to offer dinner?”

Mr. Stark glanced at the pan that was cooling on the countertop, it was filled with something undeterminable, and smouldering. Peter was surprised there were no flames licking at the air, had she been cooking that for a week? It was past the point of being burnt, it was pretty much charcoal.

“Sadly not today.” Mr. Stark said with a smile. Peter heard the unsaid, _or any day if it looks like that._

“Well, Peter will see you out,” May said, “and then wash up, Sweetie, I’m dishing up.”

Peter did as he was told, walking Mr. Stark to the door that he was pretty sure the man could’ve found on his own.

“If you want me to send you a pizza or something, just text,” Mr. Stark whispered as he stepped out into the hall, “also I can do a background check on her if you want, I’m pretty sure she was trying to kill us both with that.”

Peter couldn’t help but laugh, feeling pleasantly surprised when Mr. Stark’s eyes crinkled and he joined in.

“Thanks for the offer,” Peter said, “but I’ve managed this long, I’m pretty sure I’m immune to whatever poison she puts in it.”

“Alright, well, you know it always stands.” Mr. Stark said, walking away down the hall.

“Thanks.” Peter whispered, too quietly to be heard by anyone.

Mr. Stark had done more than given him an excuse to go do his thing as Spider-Man, he’d potentially saved Peter and May’s relationship. He’d stopped her from worrying so much, and he’d reassured her that her kid wasn’t doing anything illegal. Even though Peter was almost positive that being a vigilante superhero was toeing the line a bit.

That evening was lighter than any from the past few months, Peter let himself relax and he and May talked and laughed constantly. It felt like everything was alright, she was proud of him, and he was no longer lying entirely to her.

They laughed over burnt food and Peter found himself telling her stories of things he and Ned had done back when they were younger, it was nice.

Everything was fine.

Or at least it was until the sun disappeared from the sky and May yawned her way through a goodnight and headed off to bed. That was the moment when Peter realised that everything was not fine at all. That was when he turned the TV off and sat there listening to the sounds of the city, the sounds that never seemed to stop no matter what time it was.

So, why did the night bring a sense of danger with it? Why did it make him feel so unsafe?

Peter wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but as he hovered in the doorway of his bedroom, he realised he was scared. He was terrified.

Toomes could appear at any moment to hurt him or May, he could send one of his men to do the deed. Sure, Peter had stopped him and The Vulture wingsuit was currently locked up in the depths of the Compound, but that was just _Toomes’_ equipment. Peter didn’t know how much technology his men still had, he had no idea what sort of firepower they were hiding.

Peter’s mind was made up.

He left his room and took up his spot outside May’s bedroom door, listening intently for any hint of someone trying to break in. sure, he could have listened from his own room, but then if someone did attempt something, he would waste valuable time trying to get to May to save her.

His waste of time could cost him everything.

So, he would wait, he wouldn’t move until May was awake and the safety of the daylight had returned.

When had his life become so messed up? Oh yeah, since that stupid field trip had left him with weird spider abilities and an aversion to extreme temperatures.


	13. hogan's babysitting sevice

By the time the school bell rang to signal the end of the day, Peter was completely wrecked and couldn’t stop himself from noticing the side glances that his friends were casting his way, as they tried to figure out what was up with him. Even the teachers were guilty of doing the same thing, Peter was tired, but he didn’t miss it. 

A few times throughout the day, Ned had rammed his elbow into Peter's ribs to wake him up because he had nodded off during a class or he'd started to zone out at an inappropriate time. If it hadn't been for Ned, Peter was pretty sure he would have ended up with a detention or two, and perhaps even a call home to May to express concerns about his wellbeing. If May started to worry about him sleeping she would stay up to keep an eye on him, thus rendering his attempts to keep her safe moot. He couldn't let her figure anything out, he just couldn't. 

Peter tiredly reached into his locker and grabbed the books he would need for his homework through a stifled yawn that brought tears to his eyes and made his jaw click painfully. 

"Dude, you should just go straight home and sleep." Ned muttered as he tried to ram a book into his already overflowing locker. 

"I can't," Peter mumbled back, his head was beginning to pound with exhaustion, "I don't want Mr. Stark to think I'm turning his offer down, what if he doesn't make another one?" 

"I'm sure he would, he's took an interest so far hasn't he?" Ned asked, arching an eyebrow. "I doubt he'd give up so easily, from what I've heard about Mr. Stark, he’s quite persistent."

 _That's what I'm worried about,_ Peter wanted to say, but he just shrugged and grabbed his chemistry textbook out of the locker, "I dunno, man, I don't want to risk anything. Besides, I'm not even all that tired anymore." 

"Uh huh." Ned said. 

Peter could practically feel his best friend's eyes raking over him; taking in his messy curls that he had been too tired to force into submission with a ridiculous amount of hair gel, there were dark bruise-like marks under his eyes from the lack of sleep, and the last time Peter had looked in a mirror he'd jumped in shock because he had looked awful. He looked like a dead person walking. It was horrifying and honestly, he was shocked none of his teachers had sent him home throughout the day. 

"All I'm saying," Ned continued, "is that I think Mr. Stark would be happier that you were looking after yourself rather than turning up looking like _that_."

"Rude." Peter muttered with a sniff, but he couldn’t blame Ned, not really. "Look, man, I'm fine." 

"No, you're not, you're tired as hell." Ned countered. 

"I can't take tonight off, I just can't." Peter said, his voice taking on a pleaded tone, as though he was asking Ned's permission to go to the lab.

"You could," Ned said quietly, "just... I know you, dude, you work yourself way too hard. Just promise me that you'll take a break from Spider-Man duties tonight?" 

"Ned, I haven't been going out as Spider-Man lately, you know that right?" Peter asked, glancing at his friend who had flushed and was looking very relieved. "Did you think I was going out and not telling you?" 

"I just-" Ned paused and looked away. "I wasn't sure you'd want my help after The Vulture situation went so wrong, I figured maybe you were going out on patrol without telling me."

"Dude, I wouldn't have saved Mr. Stark's plane without you," Peter said honestly, "like, you were a seriously vital part of that operation." 

"Really?" Ned asked, looking desperate to believe Peter's words.

"Really. In fact, once my new suit is ready and I'm going out on patrol again, I want you there as my guy in the chair." Peter said. 

"Really?"

"Dude, yes." 

"You won't regret this." Ned promised. 

"Ned, this isn't a job interview or a formal thing, you don't need to promise your devotion or anything." Peter said quickly. 

"I know, I know," Ned rambled, "but as your guy in the chair can I just say, you need to sleep more." 

Peter sighed and tried to stop himself from rolling his eyes, Ned meant well, in fact, Ned was in the right, he was being perfectly reasonable by requesting that Peter get some sleep, if the situation were reversed then Peter would have said the same thing straight back at him, but the situation wasn't and he had his reasons for staying awake. 

Still, he forced a smile onto his face and said, "I'll do my best, but don't worry about me, I'll be fine." 

Ned frowned, "will you though?" 

"Look," Peter said as he closed his locker, ignoring Ned's question, "I have to get going, I don't want to keep Happy waiting much longer, how about I see you over the weekend?" 

"Yeah, alright man." Ned said, his voice trailing off as Peter walked away, feeling a pang of guilt in his stomach as he did so. 

_Sorry Ned,_ he thought as he walked out of the backdoors to the school, spotting the familiar looking Audi in moments. 

"Parker!" Happy called out. 

Peter trailed over, his shoulders feeling heavy under the weight of his backpack. 

"You're late." Happy stated, as Peter slid into the backseat, resting his head against the headrest. 

"Mmm," Peter mumbled out an acknowledgement. “How are you?”

“I’m playing babysitter for a kid when I should be doing so much more with my career, how do you think I’m doing?” Happy grumbled.

Maybe he should have said sorry, but he was just so tired, and the car had purred to life which was soothing for his sore head and providing him with the alluring temptation of sleep. 

Within moments of the car pulling away, Peter was asleep. 

Until he wasn’t. 

He came to slowly, to the sound of voices somewhere near him, but not too close, they were muffled - almost like they were blocked by something. He opened his eyes just a sliver and realised that he was still in the car and Happy was not, understanding hit him like a bus, that's why the voices were muffled, he could see Happy and Mr. Stark standing a few metres away, muttering to each other. 

"This?" Mr. Stark asked, his voice sounding incredulous. "This is the emergency?" 

"Well, I'm not trained for this." Happy said as though that was all the excuse he needed. "How am I meant to know what to do with a sleeping child?" 

"You called me as though there was an emergency because Peter fell asleep in the backseat?" Mr. Stark repeated, as though he was going to get a different answer. 

"He's a sleeping child." 

"Then wake him up." Mr. Stark said as though it was obvious. 

"How?" Happy asked. 

"H- What? Are you actually joking right now?" Mr. Stark wondered. 

"Look at him, he's exhausted, how am I meant to wake him up?" Happy asked. 

"He's leaning pretty heavily on the door," Mr. Stark said, "so open it."

"And let him fall out?" Happy asked incredulously. 

"If that doesn't wake him up, _then_ I'll entertain your needless worries." 

"You can't be serious." Happy stated. "You have me driving all around town playing babysitter to a kid that we barely know, you wouldn't be that cruel for the sake of it." 

"Wouldn't I?" Mr. Stark asked and Peter heard his footsteps move towards the car, so he tensed his body. 

The door swung open and Peter glanced up sheepishly at Mr. Stark who was removing his tinted glasses with an eyebrow raised, there was nothing on his face to suggest that he hadn't expected Peter to be awake. 

"Uh, hi?" Peter tried. "I uh, have that super hearing thing." 

"Oh I know." Mr. Stark said. "Grab your stuff, we're running late now that Happy wasted some precious moments with his mild crisis. We have a suit to work on!"

"A suit, yeah," Peter said, trying to shake himself out of the funk he was in, "the Spider-Man suit."

"Are you alright?" Mr. Stark wondered, fixing Peter with an intense gaze that made him feel as though his deepest, darkest secrets were on display for the world to see. "Actually, scrap that, stupid question. We'll swing by the kitchen on our way to the workshop, grab you a snack and a juice box, that's the kind of thing kids like, right?"

"Uh, sure." Peter mumbled, unable to deny that he was hungry. 

He'd napped through lunch earlier in the day, in that moment he'd prioritised sleep over food and the gnawing feeling in his stomach was beginning to make him regret it, after all - what use was a forty minute nap? It wouldn't have helped him all that much. 

"Years." Peter heard Happy grumble as the man walked away. "I've spent freaking years trying to make that man look after himself and now look at him! All it takes is a twelve year old with a penchant for trouble and all of a sudden he'd this mature _adult."_

 _I'm fifteen,_ Peter thought, but he didn't say anything as he was fairly sure Happy's grumbles weren't for his ears since Mr. Stark hadn't even registered that there was someone else talking. He clicked his fingers in front of Peter's face.

"Earth to Underoos," he said in a singsong voice, Peter blinked and looked at him, "you coming or what?" 

"Oh yeah, I uh, got distracted." Peter muttered. 

"Yeah, not sleeping will do that to you," Mr. Stark said casually, letting Peter know that he knew, "now come on, we can talk about that issue later; first we need to get you some food."

Peter followed Mr. Stark with a pounding in his heart and sweaty palms as he tried his best not to think about what the looming conversation.

The last time Peter had been in The Compound had been when his life was in danger and Mr. Stark's medical team were working tirelessly to save his skin. Now that he wasn't on the verge of death, he could truly appreciate where he was. 

They had been parked in what had seemed like a garage on first glance, but as Peter walked alongside Mr. Stark he realised that it was so much more than a mere garage, it was never ending - cars that looked as though they were worth more than the apartment Peter lived in lined the walls and gleamed under their own light. It was extremely over the top, and very much expected of Mr. Stark. 

Peter trailed after Mr. Stark as they walked through the compound, he felt wrong - out of place - as though his grubby sneakers and second hand jacket didn't belong there, as though they would bump into someone who would take one look at Peter and know that he didn't belong. Would they kick him out when he was with Mr. Stark? Could they?

Peter hoped not. 

"Right, kitchen," Mr. Stark said as he led Peter into the room, it was strange how the doors just slid open without Mr. Stark swiping a key card or scanning his fingerprint or _something._ They just opened as if they knew who he was, and that was when Peter realised that they probably did. Mr. Stark wasn't a genius for nothing.

"Kitchen." Peter repeated. 

"Come on, kiddo, go and figure out what you want." Mr. Stark said. 

Peter wandered into the room a little, "uh, Mr. Stark? I can't just rake through your cupboards, that seems too rude." 

He waited for the older man to scoff at him and tell him he was being ridiculous, but he was pleasantly surprised when instead he was met with an understanding smile and Mr. Stark immediately moved over to the cupboards and started pulling things out without a care in the world. 

So that was how Peter found himself in the workshop, sitting on the workbench with his legs swinging as he sucked on the straw of an orange flavoured juice box, he'd devoured half a packet of chocolate biscuits, each time he'd glanced at Mr. Stark to make sure he wasn't mad that Peter was working through his food so quickly, but the billionaire didn't seem to care. 

"So, I usually start pretty simply with some blueprints," Mr. Stark said, laying a sheet of paper out on one of the worktops that wasn't covered by Peter's food, "give us an idea of what we're doing before we bring F.R.I.D.A.Y. into it."

"Alright," Peter said, taking a sip from his juice box and throwing himself off the worktop to look over Mr. Stark's shoulder at what he was drawing, "woah, those eyes are cool."

"Better than your goggles, aren't they?" Mr. Stark asked. 

"Yeah, they're awesome, but what about the filtering?" Peter asked. 

"Filtering?" 

"Yeah, so my Spider powers kinda make it feel like my senses are dialled up to eleven, which means that sometimes it can be a little bit too much, so those goggles looked dumb but they helped me to focus on helping people." Peter said honestly. 

"Huh," Mr. Stark stared at him for a moment before looking back to his drawing and making a note along the side in an illegible scrawl, "alright, we can deal with that. It'll give us a challenge."

"What do you mean?" Peter wondered, he had done it with his goggles, it hadn't been that much of a challenge once he'd figured out how to do it. 

"Well, how about we make the eye pieces adjust to your surroundings," Mr. Stark said with an excited gleam in his eyes, "we can have them limit some of the brightness on sunny days, allow you to have more of your senses at nights or in dark places so that you aren't hindered by the darkness and your lenses’ filtering abilities."

Peter's old suit had done that to a degree, but it had malfunctioned all the time and often had caused him to lose a fight or two. He took in Mr. Stark's bright expression and eager face and realised that this was the Tony Stark that the world never got to see, this was the man that lived for his work and had fun creating things.

"You good kid?" Mr. Stark asked, pausing his sketches for a moment. 

"Yeah, I-" Peter paused, he was good, he just couldn't believe that he was in Mr. Stark's lab watching a new suit come to life on a sheet of paper. "It's all still just a little surreal."

"I understand that," Mr. Stark said, "believe me, if someone had told me a few months ago that I would have taken in a young superhero and started designing a new suit with him after he crashed my plane and saved my ass , I probably would have arranged an appointment with my therapist." 

Peter snorted, he got where Mr. Stark was coming from, it wasn't how he'd planned his future either. 

"But here we are, and while we're building this suit we can work on your technique." Mr. Stark said. 

"My technique?" Peter wondered. 

"Yeah, like no offence kid, you're really good at what you do and the videos where you save people on YouTube are amazing, but the thing is I've also seen the videos where you got your ass kicked." Mr. Stark said. 

Peter scowled, "I reported them all, I thought they'd been taken down."

"Once something is on the internet it never goes away, Underoos." Mr. Stark said with a laugh. "There are a few videos of me from back in my school days which I would- actually you know what, I'm not going to say anything more about those, they would either traumatise you or encourage you to try and look them up. You're a handful as it is, you don't need any tips on breaking the rules."

"I don't break the rules." Peter said with a sniff. 

"No?" Mr. Stark asked. "So this-" he pulled up a video on one of the screens "-isn't you?"

"Hey!" Peter protested. "How do you even have this? Is this legal?"

Peter was staring at CCTV footage of himself drooling all over the top of his English textbook as he grabbed a quick power nap in the middle of class. 

"You're avoiding the point here." Mr. Stark said. 

"So are you?" Peter protested. "Did you hack my school’s security footage? This is weird, like weird enough that I should warn you that if you're secretly a stalker who watches people before cooking them in your million dollar oven and selling their kidneys on the black market, then I have pepper spray in my backpack."

"The backpack you left in my car?" Mr. Stark asked, raising an eyebrow at Peter who blanked, yes he had done that. "Kid, you're also Spider-Man." 

"With questionable fighting abilities, you've already pointed that out." Peter said. 

"Yeah, well, I still reckon you could kick my ass if you managed to get to me before my suit formed." Mr. Stark said. 

"Huh, I'll keep that in mind," Peter said, he wasn't actually all that bothered by the man hacking his school as his Spidey-Senses were silent, Mr. Stark wasn't a threat to him, even if he did have questionable boundaries. 

"That's beside the point though, kiddo, you're sleeping in class," Mr. Stark said, "do you want to talk about that?" 

"My English teacher has this really boring, droning voice." Peter lied. "It could put anyone to sleep, in fact, I'm surprised it doesn't put him to sleep too."

"So why are you the only one napping in that footage?" Mr. Stark asked. 

"I-" Peter faltered. "We take turns, it would be way too obvious if we were all napping all the time." 

"You're full of shit kid." 

"Hey!" Peter protested. "You should be telling me not to swear and stuff."

"You didn't swear." Mr. Stark stated. "I did."

"You're weird, Mr. Stark." Peter decided. 

"Back at you Spider-Kid." Mr. Stark said. "You're not getting out of it all that easily though, come on, what’s wrong? Why are you falling asleep during class?"

"How do you know something is wrong?" Peter asked. "Maybe I usually fall asleep during school, I am normally out pretty late as Spider-Man you know." 

"I'm not buying it, Kid." Mr. Stark said with a certainty that had Peter's shoulders slumping in defeat. 

"Why not?" He asked, ashamed to hear the whine in his own voice.

"Well, for one you look like shit," Mr. Stark said, pointing at Peter with his pencil, "I swear, you didn't even look this bad after you fought off Toomes." 

"I do not." Peter protested. 

"You do." Mr. Stark said bluntly. "You have huge bags under your eyes, you're pale, you look sick, and you have a tired air to you." 

"A tired air?" Peter asked, frowning - that sounded like something that was completely made up. There was no way he had a 'tired air'... whatever that was. 

"Yeah, you know, you just _seem_ tired." Mr. Stark continued. "Your words are starting to slur a little and you keep melding them together without realising."

"I do?"

"Yeah, kid, you're tired." Mr. Stark said, driving his point home.

"Whatever." Peter mumbled, hoping that that would be the end of the conversation. 

He didn't want to talk about it anymore, he didn't want Mr. Stark to think that he owed Peter something, because he didn't. It wasn't his fault that Peter was so messed up, that he couldn't sleep anymore, that he was terrified of something or someone coming after his family. 

Peter could have handled his own life being in danger, he would have been fine with that - well, maybe not fine exactly, but it was still preferable to the alternative. Of course, since PEter was hoping for the situation to be left alone, there was no way that happened. 

"Look, Kiddo, I know that you don't know me very well," Mr. Stark said, turning in his chair to face Peter, "you've pretty much just met me even if you had heard of me before, which means that you're not going to trust me instantly, but I just wanted to tell you that you can talk to me if you need to. Even if it takes you a while to come round, I'll listen."

"I do," Peter mumbled, realising that he would have to elaborate when Mr. Stark turned his confused gaze on him, "trust you that is."

"Really?" 

"Yeah, I mean May often says I'm too trusting but really I think that I just rely on my Spidey-Sense," Peter admitted, "and since my Spidey-Sense isn't warning me that you're a danger or giving me any uncomfortable feelings, I trust you."

"It's that easy?" Mr. Stark wondered. 

"My Spidey-Sense isn't often wrong." Peter said with a shrug. 

"Alright, if that's all it takes for you then I'll make an effort not to prove your 'Spidey-Sense' wrong, even if it seems strange to me, but that’s not the point of this conversation." Mr. Stark said drawing attention back to the thing that Peter had hoped that they'd moved away from. "Your sleep is. Or rather, lack of it."

"Do I have to talk about it?" Peter asked, looking away from the kind gaze on the older man and at the frayed hole in his sleeve which he distracted himself with by picking at it.

"Well, no, not really," Mr. Stark said, looking as though the words pained him to say, "I think it would help you and I strongly encourage you to do so, but I won't force you." 

"Thanks," Peter said, relief painting his features. 

"Don't mention it kid," Mr. Stark said with a defeated sigh, "come on, let's finish up this sketch." 

Grateful for the out that Mr. Stark had given him, Peter launched himself into his work. 

Together they bounced ideas off of each other as the sun slowly lowered in the sky and darkness started to take over the city. Peter's eyes were drooping and he caught himself almost sleeping a few times, but he was relieved that he didn't start snoring at any point because he was entirely sure that Mr. Stark wouldn't hesitate to call him out. 

Maybe Peter wasn't entirely sure how he was going to juggle keeping everyone safe and keeping up with Spider-Man duties, schoolwork and avoiding suspicion, but he was at least sure that he could rely on Mr. Stark to help him through the coming days. 

Maybe even he would eventually be able to talk to him about everything that he was going through, maybe he would be able to confide in him about his fear of May being harmed that kept him awake and sitting outside her door at night, maybe he would be able to tell him about all the fears he had swirling in his mind and the panic that made his breaths come out in short, sharp gasps and made his fingers tingle as though there was a current running through them. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait friends, i've been slammed with work lately, and i'm so damn tired. this chapter was a struggle for me, so if it's not up to my usual standard then please forgive me i tried ;-;
> 
> this chapter is kinda the bridge between the past trauma and the beginning of peter's healing 
> 
> please come find me on tumblr @[ephemeralstark](https://ephemeralstark.tumblr.com/) and thank you for your time my lovelies


	14. boss level: showering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for your patience!

_Come on Peter, it’s just a shower,_ Peter told himself as he breathed in the steam that had formed in the air, a testament to how long he had been standing there trying to convince himself to get under the damn water.

“Peter?” His head snapped up at May’s shout. “You better not be using all that hot water.”

“I’m not, I’ll be out in a moment, I’m almost done.” Peter shouted back like the liar he was; he hadn’t even started to shower, that would have meant actually getting _in._

_Come on, just do it, you’ve been managing fine up until now, why is this any different?_

Except, he hadn’t been, had he? The past few days had been difficult, and Peter would end up throwing himself out of the shower and onto the bathroom floor after less than ten minutes under the water, breathing heavily and trembling with fear. He was so stupid. He feared taking a shower, something that was a daily task for him.

 _Just get in!_ He mentally shouted at himself, even though it was pointless and he hadn’t moved, he was still standing there breathing the moist air in rapidly and wondering whether it was worth showering at all that evening, after all, all he’d done was go to school. He hadn’t even had gym that day, so really, it wasn’t completely necessary.

He could just not bother.

It would be so easy – yet, if he did that then wasn’t he giving in to the fear? Wouldn’t that validate it in his mind and make it ten times worse the following day when he tried to shower again? And what about when he had his new Spider-Man suit and he ended up covered in blood and sweat again? He wouldn’t be able to avoid the shower then.

“Peter, please, I have work tomorrow I don’t want to have to shower at 5am.” May called through the door.

“Alright, just two minutes.” Peter answered, could she hear how his voice trembled?

Cautiously, Peter stepped into the shower and in one quick movement he forced his body under the stream of water. Instantly his throat constricted with fear and he immediately reached up and shakily turned the water off. His few seconds under the water left him completely soaked through and somehow he had ended up sitting on the bottom of the tub, when had that happened?

Had he sat down or fallen? His hands shook and images of The Vulture holding him above that damn lake flitted through his mind as rapidly as his breaths, he was falling, falling, falling… he was going to _die._ He was being dropped into a lake and he couldn’t breathe or swim, he was trapped and drowning, he needed to breathe.

_Breathe…_

He could do that; he sucked in a damp breath and felt the numbness in his lips ease ever so slightly. That was good, it made him feel better, he continued to suck in more and more breaths, forcing himself to do so slowly instead of hyperventilating, something that made him feel terrible.

With a jolt, he realised that he was still fully clothed.

_Just like I had been when I almost died- no I can’t focus on that, I’m safe now._

Peter carefully stripped the damp clothes off before wrapping them in a spare towel and hiding them at the bottom of the laundry hamper – he would deal with them later, when May was sleeping and she wouldn’t ask any questions such as ‘why the hell was he showering with his clothes on?’ because he honestly didn’t have an answer for that.

He wiped a hand across the mirror quickly so that he could see his reflection, he was pasty with dark bags under his eyes. May was going to start worrying soon if he didn’t find a better time to nap than his lunch break at school and the few hours she was at work and he was at home in the evenings.

“Finally!” May declared with a grin as he left the bathroom. “I thought you’d slipped and fallen down the drain in there.”

“You wished more like.” Peter retorted, hoping she wouldn’t notice the tension in his shoulders or the anxiety in his eyes.

“You got me,” she said playfully, obviously not realising anything was wrong, “I thought I was going to have the bathroom to myself for the foreseeable future.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter muttered, “we both know you’d be lost without me.”

“Would I?” She asked, before darting forward to kiss his cheek before she disappeared into the bathroom. Peter couldn’t help but laugh quietly, she never could keep that joke going, she always too worried that he would believe her.

Peter waited until he could hear May humming under her breath before he made his way to his bedroom, leaving damp footprints on the wooden floor behind him.

 _It’s only 5pm,_ he reminded himself, as he shrugged on a pair of pyjamas, _no one will break in right now, there’d be too many witnesses._

He then made a huge mistake: he laid down on his bed.

When Peter opened his eyes again, his room was dark, and his curtains were billowing with the wind flow. His main feeling was confusion, for a moment he didn’t know where he was, what day it was, what his name was, what he was doing. It was confusing and strange, but much preferred to the sudden panic that overtook him.

“May!” He said in alarm as he jumped out of bed, stumbling as the blanket that someone had thrown over him caught in his legs and tried to trip him.

It almost succeeded, he ended up catching his balance with his hand and pushed himself back up so he could keep moving. In his panic, he used too much strength to open his door and it slammed back against the wall, he couldn’t help but wince as he listened to some of the plaster fall to the ground.

That was when he stepped in something wet and cold.

“What the-”

May had left him a plate of dinner outside his door on a tray with a little note telling him that he looked so peaceful that she couldn’t bear to wake him, so she’d left him dinner outside in case he woke up through the night.

 _Why on the floor though, May?_ He wondered, _I have a perfectly good desk in there._

He shook his head, reminding himself about the situation at hand, and the anxiety returned, clawing at his insides with its sharp talons as it whispered terrifying theories in his mind about all the things that may had happened to the only person he had left.

_May._

She had to be all right, she just had to be.

He ran down the hall, leaving footprints of whatever it was May had cooked on the floor. He was irrational in his worry and not thinking straight, he didn’t bother to pause at the door and listen for her breathing, or heartbeat. Instead, he burst into her room with a bang and she _screamed._

 _She’s alive,_ was the first thought that went through Peter’s mind, followed quickly by a, _oh shit, this is going to take some explaining and I definitely can’t tell the truth. Imagine that, oh hey May, yeah sorry to wake you so suddenly, I have a crazed guy out for my blood – or at least I think I do – and I’ve been staying awake all night to make sure you’re safe. Yeah, I know, weird huh? Yeah, so tonight I accidentally fell asleep and freaked the hell out and thought you were in trouble. Sorry to waken you so suddenly, go back to sleep now, I’ll keep an ear out._

Yeah. That wouldn’t go over so well.

“Peter?” She asked. “You scared the hell out of me, are you alright? What’s up?”

“May.” He said. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologise,” May said quickly, “come here, come and sit down.”

Peter did as she had asked, it wasn’t like he could deny her request, not after bursting into her room in a panic and waking her in the middle of the night like he had. He was going to have to say something to her.

“What’s up, Sweetie?” She asked gently, running a hand through his hair.

“I- I don’t- I’m-” suddenly Peter burst into tears.

Hot tears ran down his cheeks and sobs shook his shoulders as everything suddenly hit him in an overwhelming wave of emotion. He was so fed up of feeling scared all the time, he was done with the constant fear and worry about his Aunt, he was done with being afraid of taking a shower or hearing a shortened version of his name. He was causing himself and May far too much stress. He needed help. He needed Mr. Stark.

“Oh Honey.” May murmured as she pulled him in close into a hug and leant them back against her pillows.

The last time they’d laid like that together had been the night of Ben’s death, when Peter was struggling to deal with the residing guilt of not being able to save his Uncle, they had both been crying that night, seeking comfort in the presence of their last remaining family member.

“It’s alright,” May soothed as she continued stroking his hair, comforting him despite not knowing exactly what was going on, “you’re fine, you’re safe, I’m here.”

How ironic, it wasn’t his safety he was worried about – it was the threat to her safety by him being there. It was the brief guilt he had felt about falling asleep because he hadn’t known if that small luxury was going to cause her untimely death.

“Do you want to talk about it?” May asked quietly, as his sobs quietened to sniffles and his breathing started to even out.

“No.” He said quietly, voice thick with tears and sorrow.

“Alright, no rush,” May said, “just let me know when you’re ready. Although, if I’m going to have to fight someone, I may need you to tell me in the morning.”

Peter couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“What? I’m serious!” May insisted. “Although, maybe telling me now would work too, like how much of an upper hand would that give me.”

“May,” Peter murmured with a snort, “you’re not fighting anyone at… wait, what time is it?”

“Three in the morning.” May offered.

“Right,” he had left her alone all that time? “You’re not fighting anyone at 3am.”

“You’re a buzzkill, Parker.”

“Shouldn’t this be the other way round?” Peter asked.

“Fine, you’re not fighting anyone at 3am, Peter.” May said seriously.

Peter felt a pang in his chest at that comment, if only she knew. It was probably best she didn’t, she’d just worry.

“Noted.” Peter murmured.

“Good.” She said as she continued to run her hand through his hair. “I’m worried about you, Sweetie.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologise,” May said quickly, her voice thick with sleep, or possibly tears, he wasn’t sure and he didn’t want to turn his head and disrupt her to find out, “I know you’re stressed with everything and the new internship, but you seem more withdrawn. Is this internship something you genuinely want? It’s alright to think you want something and then realise that you actually don’t, you know?”

“I know,” Peter said quietly, “but I think I’m going to really enjoy the internship.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’m working with Mr. Stark and I’m learning so much about physics and mechanics, I’m going to nail my exams, just you wait!”

“You would have anyway,” May said confidently, “you’re a smart kid.”

“I get it from my Aunt.” Peter said with a small smile into the night, the comment was worth it because he heard May let out a breathy laugh.

“You’re a charmer, Kid,” she said, the nickname reminding him if Mr. Stark, “so you’re really alright?”

“I’ve been having some nightmares.” Peter lied, or was it really a lie? He was actually having some nightmares about the Toomes situation.

“Oh, Sweetie,” May murmured, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Peter said instantly.

“I should have gotten you help after Ben-” she broke off and cleared her throat. “I should have known that would have left an impact. I should have insisted that you got some professional help, but at the time money was tight and you seemed so well adjusted.”

“May, no,” Peter said quickly, “no way, that’s not your fault. Not at all. You’ve done more for me than anyone could have expected when you were grieving.”

“You were grieving too.” May murmured.

“We both were,” Peter said, “my current nightmares are not your fault.”

“Maybe we could look at getting you help now,” May said before falling silent, and Peter _knew_ that she was trying to think through their finances and wondering what sort of help they could afford for him, “I’m sure we could manage something.”

“Maybe we could wait for a little bit,” Peter suggested, “maybe just talking to you would help.”

“Alright,” May said unsurely, “but if things don’t start to get any better, we’re speaking to someone with more experience.”

“Ok.” Peter said quietly.

Without realising, Peter fell into a deep sleep in his Aunt’s arms, feeling safe for the first time in months.

-

The next day Peter found himself standing outside the Compound, Mr. Stark wasn’t expecting him and he wondered if he’d maybe overstepped a boundary by just turning up, hesitantly he walked in – the doors slid open automatically as though they were any normal doors, except Peter knew the building was monitored by F.R.I.D.A.Y.

Surely that meant that he was allowed to enter, F.R.I.D.A.Y. wouldn’t have let him if he weren’t.

 _“Welcome, Peter, would you like me to alert Mr. Stark to your arrival?”_ The A.I. instantly asked.

“Uh, is he busy?” Peter asked.

 _“He is currently in the workshop; he has been in there for about four hours and I would recommend that he takes a break.”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied.

“But is he busy?” Peter asked, as F.R.I.D.A.Y. hadn’t exactly answered his question.

 _“Mr. Stark would most likely want me to say that he is always busy but given my observations I would say that throwing M &Ms into the air to catch them in his mouth is not ‘work’.” _F.R.I.D.A.Y. answered.

“Oh, uh, I suppose you could tell him I’m here then,” Peter decided, “uh, please?”

 _“Mr. Stark has been alerted to your presence; he is coming down to meet you now.”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. said.

“Oh, uh, thanks.”

_“You are welcome.”_

Peter didn’t know what to after that, he wandered deeper into the lobby area, wondering why there was no one going about. Although, thanks to F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s presence it wasn’t like a security guard was needed. Still though, surely there would be more than just him?

“Hey, Underoos!” Mr. Stark called as soon as the elevator opened.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter greeted, “I’m sorry to just drop in.”

“Nonsense, I told you kid, you’re welcome anytime.” Mr. Stark said. “Although I have to admit that I wasn’t actually expecting you to turn up, I figured I’d have to send Happy to get you a few more times before you realised I was serious. Speaking of which, how did you get here?”

“I used my webs.” Peter said as though it should have been obvious.

“Without a mask?” Mr. Stark asked. “Kid, there’s this thing called a secret identity.”

“I had a mask.” Peter said, holding it up. “It’s not perfect, it’s from Halloween a few years back, but it did the trick.”

“Is that Chewbacca?” Mr. Stark asked incredulously.

“It was very warm.” Peter told him.

“I bet, don’t worry, I’ll get Happy to drive you home.” Mr. Stark told him.

Humiliation pooled in Peter’s stomach as he listened to what Mr. Stark said, “oh, right,” he murmured quietly. He wasn’t wanted there, he _had_ overstepped.

“Not like that,” Mr. Stark said quickly, realising that Peter had taken his statement the wrong way, “I meant once you’re done here.”

“Oh, ok,” Peter said quickly.

“Now, come on, F.R.I.D.A.Y. was just telling me that I need to take a lunch break, so you can join me.” Mr. Stark decided as he shot a scathing look at the ceiling. “Apparently M&Ms aren’t lunch and I need something more nutritious.”

 _“Miss Potts will be pleased.”_ Was all F.R.I.D.A.Y. said in response.

“They’re conspiring against me.” Mr. Stark said to Peter, as though that was a normal thing for his fiancée and A.I. to do.

“Oh.” Peter said, not knowing what else to say to that.

He was led into the elevator which seamlessly shut and started to move without Mr. Stark pressing any buttons, it was a smooth ride and Peter hadn’t even realised that they’d been moving when the doors opened onto a new floor.

“So, what you in the mood for?” Mr. Stark asked as he walked over to the large fridge and stuck his head in, rootling around for lunch materials.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Peter said with a shrug that couldn’t be seen, “you can choose.”

“Alright.” Mr. Stark said with a shrug as he pulled out some ham and cheese and set about making grilled ham and cheese sandwiches. He pointed at Peter with the butter knife. “You can sit down if you want.”

Not wanting to get on the wrong side of a man with a butter knife, Peter scrambled up onto one of the stools at the kitchen island.

“So…” Mr. Stark said as though he was expecting something.

“So?” Peter asked.

“Come on, Kiddo, talk to me,” Mr. Stark said, “what brings you here?”

“Oh, uh, I don’t know.” Peter said, staring down at the island surface as though it was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen.

“Yes, you do.”

“Alright,” Peter said, “I just, I- do you remember when you told me I could talk to you about… everything, if I wanted to?”

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark said, pulling out a frying pan, “is something on your mind?”

“This was stupid of me.” Peter muttered in frustration as he ran a hand across his forehead and tugged at his hair slightly.

“Hey, hey!” Mr. Stark said quickly, distracting him. “You’re not stupid, Kid, now come on, talk to me.”

“I just… I don’t even know how to start.” Peter said.

“How do you feel right now?” Mr. Stark asked.

“Frustrated.” Peter said instantly.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know how to say what I’m feeling or explain how hard things are at the moment.” Peter admitted.

“So you’re struggling?” Mr. Stark asked, as the slight ‘ _tss_ ’ of the butter meeting the hot pan filled the air.

“I guess so.” Peter said with a shrug.

“Are you sleeping alright?” Mr. Stark wondered conversationally, as though they weren’t discussing why Peter’s life was falling apart.

“No.”

“Nightmares?”

“Yeah, but not wholly because of those.” Peter said.

“No?”

Mr. Stark gave Peter a moment to collect himself and slid a plate with his sandwich on across the counter. He’d obviously done that a fair few times before as the plate came to a stop in front of Peter.

“I have to protect May,” Peter said quietly, “she’s all I have left, I can’t let anyone hurt her.”

“So, you’re staying awake to make sure nothing happens to her?” Mr. Stark asked, pulling up a stool opposite him. peter nodded. “What do you think might happen to her?”

“Toomes.” Peter admitted.

“Kid, you got him,” Mr. Stark said, “he’s locked away.”

“But he could escape, he’s smart,” Peter argued, “or he could tell someone to come and find us, he knows who I am. He also left behind his team!”

“You’re alright, Kiddo,” Mr. Stark said reassuringly, “I have eyes on everyone that he speaks to, there’s no way anyone will get past my people to you.”

“Really?”

“Really, you have no idea how closely I’m monitoring these people.” Mr. Stark said with a reassuring smile.

“Ok.”

They lapsed into silence for a few moments, and Peter thought it through. Mr. Stark was watching the bad guys, he was making sure that they weren’t sharing his personal name, he was keeping tabs on their whereabouts, he was making sure that Peter and May were _safe._ Sure, his ways probably weren’t fool proof, but they were something.

“That’s not all, is it?” Mr. Stark asked.

Peter took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, and swallowed, before answering with a simple, “no.”

“Alright,” Mr. Stark said with a nod, “I guess I best make a coffee. Do you want anything? Soda? Hot chocolate? Tea?”

“Soda, please.” Peter said with a small but genuine smile as he mentally prepared himself to let out everything that had been troubling him since the night of the fight with Toomes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so so much for all the kudos, comments, bookmarks and subscriptions! you all make my day so much brighter with your kind words and i hope you know how much they mean to me! together we've hit 11k hits??? that's just wild???


	15. the black widow

Peter watched - with his chin resting on the countertop and a stray curl falling in his eyes - as bubbles formed in his soda and slowly crept their way up the glass before dispersing into the air with nothing more than a faint _‘tss’_.

He could hear Mr. Stark stirring something into his own drink, the bitter, earthy smell of coffee filling the air; something that may have once made Peter’s nose wrinkle in disgust, but now he was used to hiding his minute expressions that were triggered by his overpowered senses. 

“How’s your soda?” Mr. Stark asked and Peter couldn't help but lift his head off the counter with raised eyebrows and watch the man walk around to the other side of the kitchen island and pull up a stool. “What? What’s that look for?” 

Peter schooled his expression to look more neutral, “oh, uh nothing, the soda is good, thanks,” he mumbled. 

Awkward tension hung in the air, neither of them knew how to address the elephant in the room. 

“Good,” Mr. Stark murmured, taking a sip from his coffee with a loud slurping noise as it was too hot to drink properly, “alright, Kiddo, I’m going to be the first to admit that I’m not good at initiating these conversations. I don't know where to begin, so why don't you tell me what’s been going on?” 

“Other than the not sleeping thing?” Peter asked quietly. 

“Other than the not sleeping thing.” Mr. Stark confirmed. 

“Well, I uh- I don’t- I mean I don't really know where to start either,” Peter said quietly, “I guess there’s the thing you know about.”

“When you get called- I mean the nickname?” Mr. Stark asked. 

“Yeah that.” Peter said. 

“What else?” 

“I guess the water is causing some problems.” Peter admitted. 

It was causing him more than _some_ problems; it was beginning to completely mess up his life. His panic attacks left him trembling on the bathroom floor as though he had faced something terrible and dangerous when in reality he had only tried to shower. 

“Water?”

“Yeah.” 

“I’m gonna need you to elaborate a little bit kiddo,” Mr. Stark admitted, “I’m not really following, is it all water?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Like can you drink a glass of water?” Mr. Stark enquired. 

“I- yeah,” Peter said as though that should have been obvious, he wasn't _that_ messed up, or at least he didn't think he was, “it’s just, lately whenever I’ve been going to shower, my brain goes back to-”

_The water. It filled Peter’s vision and made his heart beat furiously in his chest with an all-consuming fear that ran through his veins like ice water._

_The terrifying laser eyes of The Vulture pierced into his mind and caused an innate fight or flight response - they were so cold, and he couldn't read any emotion in them at all, they were completely inhuman and artificial. It was almost like the man behind the mask also wasn't human._

_The water below him grinned beckoningly like a dark abyss waiting to swallow him whole - he was its next snack and he was being hand delivered to the inky waters that twinkled deceivingly with the light from the moon overhead._

_“No, no, no, no, not again!” Peter shouted, trying to claw the grip on his ankle off, although why he wasn't sure._

_Maybe so that the fall wasn't so high? Maybe so he could fall on his own terms? At the end of the day, he knew that he was going to end up in the dark abyss, so why not fall when he chose to?_

_But either way he was going in the water and he couldn't breathe._

_“No, I can’t do this again!” Peter screamed. “No!”_

“Come on, Kiddo, you’re safe.” 

_“No, I’m drowning, you’re drowning me, I can’t breathe! Stop it!” Peter yelled as he struggled and tried his best to suck in air that just wasn't there for him to breathe him._

“Kid, come on, you’re alright, I promise.” 

_“NO!”_

“Underoos, breathe, please.” Mr. Stark begged. 

“Breathe?” Peter gasped out. 

“Yeah, that’s it, match your breathing to mine,” Mr. Stark said, taking exaggerated breaths that Peter could copy, “there we go, deep and slow. That’s it Kiddo.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter panted out.

“Don't.” Mr. Stark said. “Don't apologise, there is nothing for you to be sorry for.”

“Isn’t there?” Peter asked after a brief second as he spotted something that made his heart stutter in his chest and his brain start screaming that he was a dangerous monster. 

On the back of one of Mr. Stark's hands was a raised, red line that looked very recent and mildly painful. Peter’s brain immediately jumped to the only logical assumption. 

“I hurt you?” He asked in horror.

“Kid, it’s just a scratch.” 

“It’s not just a scratch,” Peter corrected him, “it’s a scratch that _I_ inflicted on you. It’s my fault.” 

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Mr. Stark said, “it happened while you were in the middle of a flashback, you’re not going to be in full control of yourself during something like that. It’s natural to want to defend yourself.” 

“But there was nothing to defend myself against.” Peter said in confusion. 

“Your brain wasn't aware of that.” Mr. Stark said simply. 

“I can’t be lashing out,” Peter said, “I’m Spider-Man, I’m stronger than the average person, Mr. Stark, I could have really hurt you there! What if I had? What if I do in the future? What if I hurt May, or Ned?” 

“Kiddo, calm down, deep breaths,” Mr. Stark said, “we’re going to get on top of this, alright?” 

“Are we?” 

“Yeah, I’m going to help you, remember?” Mr. Stark said. “You’re going to be ok.” 

Peter rested his head back, feeling too exhausted to argue any further - besides, he _wanted_ to believe in what Mr. Stark was saying to him. That was when he realised with a jolt that he was leaning against Mr. Stark and they were sitting on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor. How had they gotten down there? 

Sensing his confusion Mr. Stark spoke up, “I figured it was better to move us down here, before you fell down.” 

“Yeah, I- uh thanks.” Peter stammered out. 

That was a kind thought, Peter had been completely out of it while caught up in his memory, he couldn't have denied that he would have ended up losing his balance and falling from the stool at some point. 

“What-” Peter paused and pursed his lips, before looking at Mr. Stark’s encouraging face. “What was _that_? Did you say something about a flashback?” 

“A flashback would be my best guess, of what though, I don't know.” Mr. Stark answered. “Care to share?” 

“I want to,” Peter admitted, “I just don't know if I can. What if that kind of thing happens every time I try to talk about what happened?” 

“I think you need something else to focus on.” Mr. Stark decided.

“Like what?” Peter wondered, starting to feel the chill in the airy kitchen now that the sweat was cooling on his forehead and the back of his neck and the panic had left. 

“Come on,” Mr. Stark said, patting his shoulder as a request for him to move, Peter did and scrambled to his feet, “when I returned from Afghanistan, I was a mess.” 

Peter knew that, but he wasn't sure why Mr. Stark had decided to share the fact with him in that moment. The older man also stood up, his knees cracking with the movement - how long had they been on the floor? 

“So, I pushed myself to train harder than I ever had before, and during my workouts I would think through things and try to come to terms with everything, because guess what exercise produces?” 

“Endorphins.” Peter said. 

“Exactly.” Mr. Stark said with a grin. 

That made sense, in a way, if Peter was under the influence of his own endorphins - a hormone that had a opioid like effect on the brain and brought about feelings of euphoria and general contentedness - then maybe he would be willing to talk more about the difficult things that would otherwise make him feel dark and helpless. 

“So, I exercise, and you shoot questions at me?” Peter asked. 

“Not quite.” Mr. Stark murmured cryptically. 

“I don't follow?” Peter admitted. 

“There’s someone I want you to meet.” 

Well, that wasn't nerve wracking at all, Peter decided as they walked through The Compound. Who could Mr. Stark want him to meet? And why? 

“Uh, Sir, who am I meeting?” Peter asked anxiously. 

“Lose the formalities, Kid, it’s going to be fine,” Mr. Stark said reassuringly. Peter hadn't even realised that he sometimes slipped back into his overly formal way of addressing Mr. Stark when he was stressed out or anxious. 

They entered the training room together, and the first thing that hit Peter was the mixture of sweat and chlorine as though it had been thoroughly cleaned recently, but thanks to his enhanced senses he could still pick up on everything that had been covered up. 

The second thing he noticed was how well equipped it was, it was better than any state-of-the-art gym and had equipment that Peter knew most athletes would dream of having. It was spacious with training mats for people to practice sparring if they hadn't wanted to work out. 

That was how he noticed the third thing, The Black Widow was standing on one of the mats, looking at the two of them appraisingly with a quirked brow and an otherwise passive expression. 

Peter could just imagine how he must look to her: pasty faced with dark bags under his eyes, sweat soaked into his shirt and dried on his skin giving him a sickly sheen. He was small, smaller than Mr. Stark and wiry. She probably thought that Mr. Stark was doing some kind of charity thing and she’d been roped into play fighting the kid who had won. 

“Stark.” She called out in greeting, not addressing Peter at all, maybe because she didn't know his name? Or perhaps more likely because she didn't think he was worth her time. 

Would she be wrong? 

As she stood there, seemingly completely normal, Peter couldn't help but register the danger she carried with her. It was strange, his Spidey-Sense was thrumming lightly, as though it wanted him to acknowledge that he was in the presence of a dangerous individual, but it didn't think she was a particular threat to him. That was a relief, his shoulders untensed slightly with the realisation. 

She was an Avenger - of sorts - she wouldn't kill a kid. Hopefully. 

“Uh, Mr. Stark?” Peter whispered. “What’s The Black Widow doing here?” 

“She’s here to help you train.” Mr. Stark said. 

“But… why?” 

“Because, she’s the fighter,” Mr. Stark said, “I fly around in a metal suit and shoot the bad guys. Sure, I could hold my own in a hand to hand fight if I absolutely had to, but when it comes to learning how to fight, it’s Nat you need.” 

“But… isn't she rogue?” Peter asked quietly. 

“No more so than you are.” The Black Widow responded in place of Mr. Stark causing Peter to instantly flush bright red at having been overheard. 

“I trust her.” Mr. Stark said. 

“More fool you.” Black Widow said with a smirk, but Peter could see the hint of familiarity in her eyes. She was comfortable with Mr. Stark, she liked his company. 

“Don’t listen to a word she says,” Mr. Stark commented, patting Peter’s back as he took a couple of steps back, “she’s a liar and a spy.”

“I have to admit I’m getting mixed messages right now.” Peter mumbled, feeling all his confidence leave him. 

“What’s your name, Kid?” Black Widow asked him. 

“Did Mr. Stark not tell you?” Peter asked. 

“He did.”

“Oh, uh ok, I’m Peter.” Peter said in confusion. “Parker.”

“Alright Peter Parker, let’s go.” Black Widow said. 

The room spun dramatically, and Peter felt himself suddenly slam into the ground a few feet from where he had been standing, he had been thrown onto a mat, but the wind had still been knocked out of him. 

He saw Mr. Stark and the Black Widow stare at him in silence as though they were trying to see if that mere throw would break a dam in him somehow, but to everyone’s surprise a wide grin broke across his face. 

“Oh my God, Miss. Black Widow ma’am, that was so _cool!_ ” Peter said, the flush on his cheeks no longer from his tears and the flashback of earlier. “Mr. Stark? Did you see that? That was awesome!”

“I think your kid is broken, Stark.” Black Widow commented, staring at Peter with wide eyes. 

“He’s not my kid, and he didn’t come with a receipt, so we’re stuck with him.” Mr. Stark commented. 

“Can we do that again?” Peter asked, jumping back to his feet, and honing his senses this time.

So, when The Black Widow approached him he was able to tell what she was planning, he didn’t stop her though, instead he let his Spidey-Senses take over as he was flipped through the air and managed to correct himself, almost like a cat, so that he could land in a crouched position rather than flat on his back. 

“That’s awesome! It feels like a rollercoaster!” Peter cheered. 

“Is he always this happy to be thrown against things?” The Black Widow asked Mr. Stark. 

“Not usually Miss. Black Widow ma’am, I was very much not happy when The Vulture slammed me into the sand a few times.” Peter said, before clamping his mouth shut and feeling his pulse quicken with the accidental slip of his tongue. He saw Mr. Stark frown with the new information and cursed himself for speaking so loosely. 

“It’s just Natasha, or Nat if you want,” Miss. Romanoff said as though Peter hadn’t said anything about Toomes, “now, come on, you’re a quick learner, let’s go again.” 

So they did. 

Each time Peter was flipped through the air, he picked up a little more on Miss. Romanoff’s technique, and every single time after that first one - he managed to land in a crouched position with a grin stretched across his face. 

“You’re not doing bad Kid,” Miss. Romanoff said, “but you’re celebrating too early. If we weren't training, I would be straight back in for another hit, you need to at _least_ be ready on your defence if not going in on the offence.”

“So… I need to fight back?” Peter asked with a frown. 

“Well, maybe not today, this is only your first session,” Miss. Romanoff said, “but eventually, yes. Today though, I think we’ll settle for you just getting back into a defensive stance.”

“Like this?” Peter asked in confusion as he spread his arms and legs and squatted. 

“Are you a basketball fan?” Miss. Romanoff asked. 

“My uncle was.” Peter confirmed. 

Miss. Romanoff reached out and shoved him, hard, and Peter ended up falling backwards with a yelp and a mild thump, “we’re not playing basketball, we’re fighting.” 

“You only had to say,” Peter grumbled as he heaved himself back to his feet, “that was mean, Miss. Romanoff.” 

“Your enemies aren’t going to be gentle,” Miss. Romanoff said with a quirked eyebrow, “they aren’t going to wait until you find the right stance or give you pointers. They’re going to latch onto your weaknesses and attack you.”

“Don't I know it?” Peter muttered. 

“What are your weaknesses?” Miss. Romanoff asked him. 

“Well, I mean I guess I talk too much, I don't focus easily, I can't swim, I would give up if my friends or family were threatened-” Peter was cut off before he could go any further with his list of weaknesses. 

“See, you should have just said ‘none’.” Miss. Romanoff said. “We’re fighting. Don't tell me your weaknesses.” 

“You asked.” Peter muttered. 

“Stark, seriously?” Miss. Romanoff asked with an exasperated expression. 

Mr. Stark made a face a spread his hands in a ‘what can I say’ fashion, “you have to admit he grows on you.”

“Like a fungus.” Miss. Romanoff said. 

“Are you joking?” Peter asked. “Mr. Stark? Is Miss. Romanoff joking?” 

“I’m gonna gut you, Kid,” she threatened with a straight face and Peter couldn't stop himself from giggling, _giggling._

“Toomes already tried,” Peter said with a smile, “before you do that could you teach me how to actually do a defensive stance since apparently basketball and fighting are not synonymous.” 

“Oh, why not?” She said. “Right, Kid, copy me.” 

She shifted so that she was facing him at an angle, one foot forward, one back but they were both around shoulder width apart with loose knees. Peter shuffled into the same position - it was foreign to him and felt strange, he wasn't entirely convinced that he would be able to fight like that. 

“So, we stand like this because it gives us a firm support base,” Miss. Romanoff said, “we’re less likely to be knocked over and we can prepare ourselves for whatever we may face.” 

“Alright.” Peter mumbled, testing it out a little by rocking his weight back and forward. 

“Then, I want you to bring a fist up close to your face, keep your elbow tucked in, and keep your other arm low.” 

Peter copied her, doing exactly as he was told.

“Alright, that’s passable.” She decided after poking at him and altering his position a few times. “Right, drop your stance now.” 

Peter did as he was told. 

“Oof!” Miss. Romanoff instantly drove a fist into his abdomen causing him to huddle over winded. “What the heck?”

“Never drop your guard, Peter.” 

“You told me to!” Peter complained. 

“Never do what your opponent wants you to do.” She said as though it should have been obvious. 

Peter looked over to Mr. Stark as though he was going to help him in any form, only to find the man doubled over with laughter at Peter’s wounded puppy dog look. 

“This is just rude.” Peter muttered.

“Right, all jokes aside, there’s a reason we’re doing this,” Mr. Stark said with a last snort of laughter, “why don’t you run through things a few times while I ask some questions?” 

“Questions?” Peter asked apprehensively, watching Miss. Romanoff carefully. 

“Don’t think about it too closely, Kiddo, it’s going to be fine.” Mr. Stark said. “Besides, tell me, does your Spidey-Sense tell you that you’re in danger?” 

Peter paused, listening to the faint thrumming that was still warning him that Miss. Romanoff was dangerous but not a threat to him. It was just alerting him to the fact she could be a threat if she wished to be, but he was not currently in any danger. 

“No.” He admitted after a few moments. 

“So, let’s go, Underoos, get to it.” Mr. Stark said as he clapped his hands - the sound extremely loud in the empty hall and it made Peter jump. 

“Alright, Parker, here’s the plan,” Miss. Romanoff said to him, “you’re going to land smoothly each time I throw you, get up instantly and back into your defensive pose before we go again. We won’t be taking a break in between, if you have a weak spot, I’ll use it to my advantage, and you need to answer every question Stark shoots your way.”

“This seems a bit unf-” 

Peter slammed into the mat on his back and was met with an unimpressed look, “we’ve started. Come on, get up.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so so much for all the kudos/comments/subscriptions/bookmarks so far!! you guys are the best! i appreciate you all my lovelies <33333


	16. natasha romanoff doesn't fight fair

Peter was beginning to learn that Natasha Romanoff did not fight fair, and honestly, the bruises on his backside were his own fault because he should have realised that the moment he met her. She was smart, quick and took no prisoners. Peter had spent more time being poked and hit in his ‘weak spots’ than he had in a proper defensive pose and he had to admit that she was good.

Mr. Stark hadn't left him, thankfully, Peter wasn't sure how comfortable he would have been on his own with the trained assassin, especially as she had started stepping on his toes whenever he addressed her as ‘ma’am’. In fact, he was surprised that he had gotten away with using ‘Miss. Romanoff’ for as long as he had so far. 

“Come on, Peter, focus.” Mr. Stark said. 

That was a surprise, he had been listening to Miss. Romanoff telling him to focus for the last hour so the change in voice was slightly jarring and he hit the mat harshly with a grunt as his distraction was taken advantage of. 

“It’s really lucky I can heal so quickly.” He muttered. 

“I’ll say.” Mr. Stark said, Peter ducked a swing that had come towards his head, she was changing things up while he was distracted? That was just plain rude. “You were a right mess after the incident at the beach, Kiddo.” 

“I think I ate a kilo of sand that night.” Peter muttered as he was flipped through the air once more, landing in his crouch before jumping back up into a defensive pose. 

For the first time he wasn't instantly jabbed in the ribs, instead Miss. Romanoff stepped back and smiled; a slightly terrifying image, “you’re learning.”

Peter was almost sure that had been a compliment. 

“How did you end up eating so much sand, Kid?” Mr. Stark asked. 

“Oh, you know,” Peter mumbled sarcastically as he ducked another blow to the head, “my homecoming date’s dad decided that I was too much trouble since I’d foiled a few of his attempts to sell illegal alien tech, so he tried to kill me.”

“He let you get as far as Coney Island?” Mr. Stark asked. 

Peter snorted breathlessly, as he was thrown again, this time Miss. Romanoff had changed things up and he ended up face down on the mat, “hey! That’s unfair! And no, Mr. Stark, he tried before that too.” 

“He did?” Mr. Stark asked. 

“Figure it out, it’s only unfair if you don't know how to turn it around.” Miss. Romanoff told him. 

“Ugh.” Peter groaned, pulling himself to his feet, sweat had soaked through his T-Shirt and his curls were sticking to his face which was bright red with exertion.

The things Mr. Stark was trying to talk to him about were things he wished he didn’t have to remember, and that alone was enough to trigger his breathing to speed up and sweat to bead even more on his forehead. The older man was right though; the exercise was the perfect distraction. 

“Kid, how did Toomes try to kill you before Coney Island?” Mr. Stark asked once more. 

Miss. Romanoff didn't give Peter a break, so he was forced to answer while dodging her hits. 

“He- uh,” one of the punches connected, “ow, damnit, um, question and answer. Right, ok. Um, so The Vulture - uh Toomes - went to this abandoned warehouse and I followed him there after planting a phone in his car and tracing it.” 

Peter flipped, purely on instinct and felt the air tremble only a centimetre from where his face had previously been. It seemed that his instincts were becoming more and more reliable – that was nice, his senses felt as though they had been overreacting lately, it was nice to be able to trust them once more.

“Good.” Miss. Romanoff said before continuing her assault. 

“So, Toomes had that wingsuit thing, you know?” Peter asked as he was grabbed and thrown, he rolled before jumping back up onto his feet, bouncing lightly on his toes. “While he was talking to me, he made those wings break all of the columns in the warehouse… and- it- I can't.” 

“Focus, Peter, come on,” Miss. Romanoff said sternly, swiping his feet out from under him so he hit the mat with a thud, “concentrate on the fight not the words.” 

“Right.” Peter said, his hands were trembling a ridiculous amount and he knew that Miss. Romanoff and Mr. Stark could see. 

His face flushed red for an entirely different reason – they could see his weakness, they could see how he was struggling to hold himself together, and how he was unable to even spit out a single sentence. Everything he was going through was on complete display and all he could do was try his best to fight the blows. Maybe it was time for him to go on the offensive.

So, he tried. He launched forward with a newfound confidence that lasted an entire three seconds before he was knocked straight back on his ass. 

“What was that?” Miss. Romanoff asked, looking mildly surprised, something that Peter was sure he wasn’t meant to see. 

“I’m fighting back.” Peter grunted out, feeling tears burn in the corners of his eyes. 

“You’re letting the emotions win.” Miss. Romanoff corrected him. “It’s making you sloppy, your movements are amateur and predictable.” 

“I don't care!” Peter screamed. 

His shoulders were heaving with the effort of each breath, he was dripping with sweat, his face was bright red, tears and snot started to fall and everything about him was falling apart – in front of two of his childhood heroes. 

“Don't you get it?” Peter asked. “I’m trying to focus on the fight, but I can't, I can't stop thinking about Toomes. He tried to kill me, he made a building collapse on top of me and left me there to be crushed under the weight. I almost didn't get out, it would have been so easy to give up, I nearly did.

“It’s too much, it’s all too much! I can’t speak to my Aunt for too long because she may use the nickname she’s been using since I was a baby but now the sound of it flips a switch in my brain and I could freak out on her. I can’t shower because I feel like I’m drowning all over again, and whenever I try, I’m back there all over again. I can’t handle darkness or small spaces because I think I’m underneath an entire building and suffocating. I can’t sleep because I’m scared Toomes or one of his men are going to come to my apartment and kill my Aunt. Don't you get it? I can’t do any of this anymore! I can't pretend to be strong. I- I can't. I can't do it. I can’t-”

“Shh,” Mr. Stark soothed as he took a few steps forward and pulled Peter’s trembling form into an embrace as though he were holding him together, “it’s alright, I’ve got you, you’re good.” 

“I- I- I can’t do this anymore.” Peter whimpered through hitched breaths and thick tears. 

“You can, Kiddo,” Mr. Stark said confidently, “I know you can.”

“How do you know?” Peter asked, pulling back slightly so he could breather without the risk of wiping snot on Mr. Stark’s shirt.

“Because I’ve been where you are, and I already know that you’re stronger than I was.” Mr. Stark said with a surety that Peter wished he could replicate. “Come on, sit down.”

They sat together – Mr. Stark’s knees cracking with the movement – on the mats that Peter had spent the better half of the last hour being thrown against. 

“I’m sorry.” Peter said quietly. 

“What for?” 

“For shouting,” Peter mumbled, “that was unfair, and I shouldn't have done it.”

“Kid,” Mr. Stark said, as though Peter’s apology had pained him, “you don’t have to apologise for anything. You’ve been through a hell of an ordeal; in fact, I think even a grown adult would struggle to deal with everything that you’ve been put through.” 

“Doesn't make my yelling alright.” 

“But it makes it make sense.” Mr. Stark said. “You needed to get that out, you had to. Keeping this sort of thing inside creates festering wounds that get infected and no matter what you do, they hurt you and you just can't forget that they exist.”

“So now that I’ve gotten it out, I’m going to be all good?” Peter asked hopefully. 

“Well, no,” Mr. Stark said, and Peter deflated, “but it’s the first step and we’ll have these training sessions a few times a week and talk through things.” 

“So, this wasn't just to break the barrier?” Peter asked. “We’re going to keep going?” 

“Yeah, we’re going to keep going, Kid, we’ve barely even begun.” Mr. Stark said. “Is that alright with you?”

“Hell yes!” Peter said excitedly. “Are you kidding? Ned is gonna lose it when he hears that I’m training with the Black Widow!” 

“You’re a strange Kid.” 

“Where’s Miss. Romanoff?” Peter asked suddenly, glancing around as he realised her presence was gone from the training room.

“That’s what you want to ask? Mr. Stark questioned with a raised brow. 

“I was just wondering.” Peter muttered. 

“Alright,” Mr. Stark said with a laugh, “you’re one of a kind, you know that?” 

Peter just let out a breathy laugh, “how many other high school kids would almost die because they’re Spider-Man?” He asked sarcastically. 

“Look, Kid,” Mr. Stark said, “you said some worrying things during that… uh, speech, so I just want you to know that we’re going to be talking about them at some point-” he saw Peter open his mouth to protest, “-not right now, of course, that would be a bit mean of me.” 

“So, what now?” Peter asked. 

“Well, no offence, Kid, but you stink.” Mr. Stark said. 

Peter sighed, that seemed about right, he had swung all the way to the compound, had a flashback, done some crying, sparred for a while with Miss. Romanoff, and then cried some more – it was inevitable that he was going to end up a bit ripe. 

“I don’t want to shower.” Peter admitted quietly, his cheeks flushing with the confession. “I mean, I want to shower, but I’m completely terrified, I don't want to freak out again.”

“Hmm,” Mr. Stark seemed deep in thought, “how about this? How about instead of letting water run over you in a shower, you try a bath?” 

“A bath?” Peter asked hesitantly. “Wouldn't that be worse? It would be like a smaller lake.” 

“Not if you only fill the tub with a little water and use a cloth to wash.” Mr. stark suggested. 

“Like a baby’s bath?” Peter asked sceptically.

“If you have any other options, I’m all ears.” Mr. Stark said. 

“No, no,” Peter said quickly, “I’m willing to give anything a go at this point.”

“Do you want to bathe here?” Mr. Stark asked gently, making Peter feel as though he would be alright no matter what he chose to reply. 

“Could I?” Peter asked, because he was anxious about trying something new where he’d be alone with the repercussions. “I just- I would rather know I could shout on F.R.I.D.A.Y. if I needed help with anything.” 

“Kid, I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't going to let you.” Mr. Stark said reassuringly. “Now, come on, up you get.” 

Peter scrambled to his feet and fell into step beside Mr. Stark, it was strange how safe he felt in the man’s presence. Almost like he had known him for years rather than about a week. 

“So, I’ll get you some towels and clothes, and show you to the bathroom.” Mr. Stark said. “If you need anything at all, just ask F.R.I. alright?” 

“Ok.” Peter said softly. “How will you get me clothes though? I think my apartment is a little far, even for Iron Man in the time it’ll take to have a bath.” 

“Don't you worry about that,” Mr. Stark said, ruffling his sweat soaked curls as though they weren't absolutely disgusting, “leave that to me.” 

So, that was how Peter found himself standing in a bathroom the size of his bedroom, the bathtub was huge and had weird looking things along the side which F.R.I.D.A.Y. had told him were jets, apparently the tub could double as a jacuzzi as well as a tub. 

Maybe on a day when he wasn't terrified of water, he would have to give that a go. 

“Hey uh, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Peter asked cautiously.

“Yes, Peter?” 

“Uh, how do I turn on the taps?” Peter wondered. “There’s nothing to turn or press?” 

“Turning on taps.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said calmly. “Let me know when the tub is filled to your liking.”

Peter only allowed F.R.I.D.A.Y. to fill the tub approximately five inches before he asked her to turn off the taps. The water was clear, and he could see the bottom of the tub. It was nothing like the dark abyss that had tried to kill him, this was safe, it was controlled and if he needed to, he could ask F.R.I.D.A.Y. to drain the water away in an instant. 

Carefully, he stepped into the water, feeling the warmth seep between his toes and warm his feet. He breathed evenly, he was fine, he was in control. It was all going to be alright… 

Peter raced down the hallway, following F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s directions and ignoring her quiet warning to go slow so he didn’t slip. His bare feet pattered against the floorboards as he ran. 

“Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark!” He shouted. “Mr. Staaark.”

“Woah, Kid, you good?” Mr. Stark had raced out into the hallway, colliding with Peter in his rush and grabbing his shoulders to steady him. 

“I did it!” Peter said with a wide grin that made his eyes crinkle and his nose wrinkle.

“You… did it?” Mr. Stark asked, as though he was double checking what exactly he needed to be excited about. 

“I had a bath!” 

“Oh!” Mr. Stark said suddenly. “Oh! That’s great Kiddo! I’m proud of you.”

Peter flushed bright red; it was dumb for him to be so excited about doing something that was barely a passing thought to most people in the world. So, he took a bath? So what? So everything… 

“Hey, kid, really,” Mr. Stark said with a serious expression, “I’m super proud of you.”

“It was just a bath.” Peter said, forcing himself to hide how big a deal it was for him. 

“Maybe to someone else, but this was a big step for you.”

“Do you think I’ll ever be normal again?” Peter asked quietly.

“I think you’ll continue to learn and grow, and eventually you’ll settle into a new normal and you won’t even realise it's happened.” Mr. Stark said gently. 

“You don't think I’m too weird?”

“Oh, don't kid yourself,” Mr. Stark said with a laugh, “I think you’re the weirdest, you walk on walls? Like seriously what the heck kid?” 

Peter couldn't help but laugh at that, how was it that Mr. Stark was so great at reassuring him and making him feel as though he wasn't a complete freak? How had Peter’s life become this? 

“Mr. Stark?” 

“Yeah, Underoos?” 

“Thank you.”

“Kid, seriously, you don't need to thank me,” Mr. Stark said honestly, “you can come to me about anything, alright, I’m here for you.” 

So, that was how Peter found himself sitting in the backseat of a fancy car, on his way home to May. Happy was purposefully ignoring him, something that would normally amuse Peter no end and cause him to try his best to break through the man’s hard exterior, but as it was - Peter had too much on his mind to care. 

For the first time in a while, he felt as though he hadn't been broken by everything he’d been through. 

Maybe he just needed to find ways to let himself live until he could get to a point where he was able to return to life as he used to know it. Maybe he would have to take very shallow, warm baths for the foreseeable future, maybe he would have to get his ass kicked by a superspy and ex-assassin just so he could talk about how he was feeling. 

Mr. Stark had promised that everyone who had been part of Toomes’ operation was under constant surveillance, which should mean that Peter had nothing to worry about, but he was still scared. He knew Mr. Stark would want him to try and sleep in his own bed that night, he’d want him to try his best not to worry. 

Peter was willing to compromise. 

He was. 

So, instead after he muttered a quick goodbye to Happy - and missed the silently concerned glance that was thrown his way - he went upstairs and spent the night pretending everything was alright until May went to bed. 

The apartment was dark, and his resolve from the daytime was waning, but still, he couldn't let Mr. Stark down, he needed to try his best to compromise. Peter waited until he could hear the steady, deep snoring coming from May’s bedroom, and he ran to the kitchen, grabbing one of the dining chairs and taking over to the door, where he wedged it under the handle. 

Sure, the door was locked, but there were ways around that. As well as wedging the chair under the handle, he balanced an empty glass bottle on it, so that if anyone tried to jostle it, it would fall and smash, therefore alerting him to someone trying to enter their home. 

You’ve got this Spidey, rely on your senses, he told himself as he did a round and made sure all the windows were properly locked. Regardless of how someone tried to break into his home, some glass was going to shatter, and Peter was going to wake up. 

With that in mind, he grabbed his duvet from his bed and curled up on the sofa where he rarely slept soundly and would absolutely jerk awake at the slightest sound and let his eyes flutter shut. 

Green glowing eyes seemed to follow him from every dark corner and crevice and fear embedded itself in Peter’s heart as he sprinted along the hallway of his home. Except, it was longer than any normal hallway, and there was no end in sight, water was gushing behind him and chasing him as he moved. 

It was trying to catch him. 

He was going to drown in his own hallway. 

Still, he ran. Even as his breaths were nothing more but shallow, desperate pants, and the muscles in his legs burned and ached - he ran. He ran and ran and ran and ran and… 

The hallway was never ending and there were no doors or windows, there was nothing that he could jump through, nothing that he could do to escape the water that had started to lick at his heels and dampen his clothes. 

It was going to get him. 

It was going to swallow him whole and drown him, he rounded yet another corner filled with green eyes and continued to race along the hall. 

He was going to have to give up, he couldn't keep going. He just couldn't do it any more… 

SMASH!

Peter jolted awake with such vigour that he ended up tumbling off the sofa and onto the floor, still wrapped up in his duvet. Light was filtering in through the blinds in the living room and he was forced to blink sleepily and wonder whether the noise had been real or if he had conjured it up as part of his nightmare. 

There was a shuffling of footsteps out in the hall, by the door…

“Oh, shit.” Peter couldn't stop the curse from escaping as he kicked his feet furiously, escaping from the duvet cocoon he was in. 

He scrambled to his feet and ran out of the living room to see who had broken in, he was ready for this, he would defend himself and May, he could do it, he was Spider-Man and… 

... that was May. 

She was staring at the broken bottle and the wedged chair with such concern and confusion that Peter felt something in him snap, and his shoulders slump.

“Peter?” She asked unsurely. 

“Morning, May.” He mumbled, looking down in shame. 

“Sweetie, I’m scared.” She admitted. “You slept on the sofa last night, locked my window, wedged the door shut and planted a… bottle?” 

Peter just continued looking down, unwilling to meet what he knew would be her soothing, ‘talk to me’ expression. 

How much longer was he going to put himself through this? At what point was he allowed to say that it was too much? He was fifteen years old; he was a child! 

His entire reasoning for not telling May the truth about Spider-Man was the possibility that she may stop him from being the hero for the little guy, she might take his web-shooters and figuratively - and possibly, literally - ground him. 

What if he didn't care? 

Maybe someone stronger, braver, and more put together should be Spider-Man. 

Maybe having the choice taken away from him would make it all so much easier. 

Peter was just so tired. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this why not follow me on tumblr @[ephemeralstark](https://ephemeralstark.tumblr.com/) where I accept prompts :D or maybe check out one of my other fics? Here are just two suggestions: 
> 
> [**Only Human**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24460945)  
>  _"I cool down quick.” Peter admitted. “It’s part of the spider thing, I can’t thermoregulate.”  
>  “You can't thermoregulate?” Mr. Stark asked blankly.  
> “Nope.” Peter was helped into the car and he waited as Mr. Stark climbed into the driver’s seat, turned on the engine, turned up the heat, and then placed his head in his hands. “Are you alright, Mr. Stark?”  
> “Kid,” Mr. Stark paused, “you can't thermoregulate, and you realised you’d forgotten your coat but then you just decided that you’d warm up?”  
> “Well, you see,” Peter mumbled, “I kinda forgot about the whole thermoregulation issue.”  
> “Of course you did.” Mr. Stark stated. “Of course you did.”_  
> -  
> Five times Peter forgot that he was Spider-Man and the one time he couldn't
> 
> [**Burn This Out**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22701289)  
>  It's summer and Peter is free to be Spider-Man all day which is great, but it's summer and Peter is out as Spider-Man on the hottest day of the year which is not great.
> 
> Or, Peter gets heat stroke because he can't thermoregulate and things could not go worse for him.


	17. peter loses it

Peter sat on the sofa with his head in his hands and his heart on his sleeve as he listened to May pacing anxiously around in the kitchen and putting together a tray with coffee and snacks in preparation for Mr. Stark’s arrival. 

Peter had called him straight after May had discovered his booby-trapped front door, straight after he had realised that giving up would be so easy… so simple… 

“May, I-” Peter faltered, wondering to himself whether he was truly ready for this, after all, everything in him had been so set on defending his identity; he had tried so hard to keep her from knowing the truth, he had lied so many times. 

“What is it Peter?” She asked, her voice thick with tears. “Please, let me in, tell me what’s going on with you.” 

“I want to,” he said, “and I’m going to, I promise, because… I- I’m not fine, May, I’m- really not good at the moment.”

“Oh, Sweetie.” She said, and suddenly he was wrapped in her arms. He was being held together by the woman who had been a mother, father, aunt, and uncle to him. She’d filled so many roles that she’d never been meant to, and she’d done it with such ease that Peter couldn't help but love her all the more. “I know you are, baby, and I’m here.”

“I- I want to tell you everything,” Peter said, feeling her tears drip onto the shoulder of his pyjama top, “but I need someone else here too.” 

“Ned?” May asked, maybe thinking back to other times when Peter had dropped bombshells on her and used his best friend as support to get through it. 

“No, not Ned,” Peter said, and he could feel her shock at that, “I need to call Mr. Stark.”

“Tony Stark?” She asked, confusion lacing her voice. 

“Uh, yeah.” Peter said quietly. 

“And then you’ll explain everything?” 

“Once he gets here.” 

Peter pulled back and noticed the unspoken words hidden in the concerned look on her face. ‘How do I tell my kid that there’s very little chance that Tony Stark will just turn up on a whim because he asks?’ 

Peter didn't wait for her to say what she was thinking, instead he pulled out of her hold and made his way to his room, closing his door gently behind him, and listening carefully for any sound of May outside his door. Thankfully, she was generally a good guardian and he couldn't remember her ever encroaching on his privacy. 

He carefully called the number that he still couldn't believe he had. 

“Hey, Kiddo,” Mr. Stark’s cheerful voice came through, just as Peter was beginning to wonder whether the number he’d been given was fake, “you know, I thought it would take you much longer to use this. I might have actually put money on you waiting at least a year before calling me, and I definitely would have put money on you texting before calling.” 

“Maybe you should give up on gambling.” Peter mumbled. 

“What’s that in your voice?” 

“What do you mean?” Peter asked. 

“Are you crying? Is there something wrong?” Mr. Stark asked instantly. 

“I need you to come over.” Peter said in reply. 

“Come over? Is something wrong?” Mr. Stark asked instantly. 

“It’s not life threatening.” Peter said reassuringly, or as much so as he could muster up. 

“Alright, care to give me any more of a heads up?” 

“I’m telling May about Spider-Man.” 

And so, Peter found himself twiddling his fingers together as he sat on the sofa and he realised that he felt as though he was a completely different person than he had been two weeks ago - he wasn't exactly sure when he had changed, but he definitely had.

Maybe it had been while he was trapped below the rubble of the warehouse or slowly drowning under the surface of the water that haunted his dreams, perhaps it had even been on one of his patrols as he forced himself to stare into the eyes of some of the worst criminals that plagued the streets of New York. 

He didn't know for sure, but he did know that he wasn't the same happy-go-lucky Peter that had been bitten by that radioactive spider during the school field trip to Oscorp Industries. He was quieter, more cynical, tired. 

He was a fifteen-year-old kid who was already feeling the fatigue of being depended on. 

Knock, knock, knock.

Peter’s spine straightened slightly as he heard someone walk in, and May move from the kitchen. 

“Mrs. Parker.” Peter heard Mr. Stark say carefully, as though he was trying to assess whether Peter had already come clean about his secret identity. 

“Tony, it’s good to see you again,” May said, and only Peter could hear the hidden ‘what the hell is happening right now?’ hidden in her words, “Peter’s in the living room, and I told you last time, it’s just May.” 

“Alright, May,” Mr. Stark said gently, “how… how is he?”

“I’m worried.” May admitted, making Peter’s heart pang painfully as he realised how much his alter ego was weighing her down too. “There’s something up with him, he hasn’t been right for weeks. I’m scared for him.” 

“Come on,” Peter heard Mr. Stark say in that gentle tone that he heard whenever he was being coaxed from a panic attack or reassured that he was safe, “let’s go speak to him.”

They walked into the room together, forced expressions of kindness and understanding on their faces. Peter hated it. He knew that they were worried, he could tell that they were scared for him – but he didn’t need their pity, he didn’t need them to look at him as though he was weak. He reckoned that Mr. Stark most likely thought that he was making a huge mistake, but this was his mistake to make. 

There they were, standing there with concealed emotions and traitorous sympathy. It made him want to scream. Not that he would, maybe once he told the truth they would change and realise that he wasn't as fragile as they thought. Who was he kidding? He felt fragile. He felt like nothing. 

He never wanted to put on the Spidey suit ever again, because he would just let more people down. Maybe he would panic in the middle of an emergency and end up causing someone harm. 

“Hey, Kiddo,” Mr. Stark said, with an obviously forced cheer, “you called and here I am.” 

“That was quick.” Peter commented idly. 

“I, uh,” Mr. Stark rubbed the back of his neck and looked away from Peter, “I may have used the suit.”

That sparked something in him, and Peter’s head jolted up to look at Mr. Stark in shock. 

“Mr. Stark! That’s for emergencies.” Peter scolded 

“Kid, after that phone call, I thought this was an emergency.” He told Peter. “Besides, that’s my suit, I can do what I want with it. One day I’ll tell you about the time I used it to fly to Florida.” 

“Why would you want to go to Florida?” Peter wondered.

“Why not?” 

“I think what Tony is trying to say,” May interrupted, shooting Mr. Stark a withering glance, “is that something is up, Sweetie, and we want to help.” 

“Yeah, that.” Mr. Stark said blandly. 

“Oh, right,” Peter said, was it hot in there? He felt like he was sweating buckets, “I- I guess I should just come out and say it.” 

“Wait.” Mr. Stark said quickly before Peter could do just that. “Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?” 

“Yes,” Peter said, “I have to do it.” 

“Tony, you know what’s going on?” May asked, shooting him a narrow-eyed stare. 

“I do.” 

“May,” Peter said quickly before the conversation could be redirected to blaming Mr. Stark for something, “I need to admit something to you. The reason I’ve been so distracted lately and not my normal self is because, well, I’m Spider-Man.” 

Silence. 

And then… 

“I know.” 

Peter was fairly sure the program that was him had suddenly developed an error and decided to reset. His brain could not possibly compute what she had meant by that, how could she possibly know? How? Was she just saying it to try and pretend that she had some semblance of control over the situation, or was she telling the truth? 

“Forgive me,” Mr. Stark said after a few stretched out moments, “but did you just say that you knew?” 

“Yes.” 

“How?” Peter asked. 

“Petey, Honey, I raised you,” May said, rolling her eyes, “you can't slip anything by me. I knew the moment you tried to wash the suit for the first time.” 

“But how?” Peter asked. “I was so careful, I made sure to wash, dry and put it away on a day where you were working. There’s no way you could have known.” 

“You also put some other laundry in,” May said, “stuff that you didn't bother to dry or put away, and it was all white.” 

“Oh, Kid.” Mr. Stark muttered. 

“Yeah, he tuned half of my socks pink, which I’m not too mad about, they look cute now even if they don't match anything.” May said with a shrug. 

“Alright, so I messed up and turned a bunch of stuff pink, but how did that clue you in?”

“Because I couldn't find the offending red object so I checked your wardrobe, I was going to confront you as soon as you got home from school,” May said, “instead I found your Spider-Man suit, freshly washed and dried and put two and two together.” 

“That wasn't long ago.” Peter said. 

“No,” May agreed, “it was around the time your mood suddenly dipped.” 

“Why didn't you tell me that you knew?” 

“Because for a short time, you were yourself again,” May said with a sad smile, “losing Ben was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to go through, but watching you retreat into yourself was almost worse. I thought I was losing you too.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don't… don't apologise, Sweetie, I found your suit and realised that Spider-Man was helping to turn you back into yourself, and I realised that you were the selfless person who was giving back to our neighbourhood.”

“Really?” 

“Really, I was so proud of you. In fact, up until the last few weeks when your mood seemed to drop, I was completely behind you one hundred percent.” May said. 

“And now?” 

“Now I know that I need to step in.” May said. “Something is wrong, don't try to convince me it isn't because I’m not stupid.” 

“Yeah, it is.” Peter said quietly.

“I was trying to give you time to come to terms with everything,” May admitted, “I wanted you to feel like you could talk to me, and some days I even thought you were about to confess everything.” 

“That’s why you kept asking questions.” Peter realised. 

“I know you, Kiddo,” May said with a smile, “you suck at talking unless you’re prompted to confess all.” 

“See,” Peter said shooting a smug glance at Mr. Stark, “I told you I was bad at talking about my feelings.” 

“I was so mad at you before all of this.” May admitted, shooting a look at Mr. Stark. 

“Me?” Mr. Stark asked in shock. “What did I do?” 

“I thought the intern lie was true, and that you were changing my kid with all the pressure and stress of working for 

Stark Industries.” May admitted. “I was actually only a few days away from having a chat with him that would end with him not coming back.” 

“May!” Peter said in shock.

“Well, what did you expect me to think?” May asked. “Since I’d figured out the Spider-Man secret by the time you guys came up with the intern story, I genuinely believed you had started to intern for Tony and the timing was very close to when your mood dipped.” 

“What made you realise that it was just a story?” Peter asked. 

“I realised that your mood also dipped around the time of Homecoming.” May admitted. “At first I thought it made sense because your girlfriend’s dad was the bad guy all along and that has to hit your confidence, but then I saw the pictures from Coney Island and realised that no one can go through all of that and not be affected.”

“So, what then?” Mr. Stark asked her. 

“Then I realised that the NDA story was bullshit-”

“May!” 

“-and realised that maybe you were feeding me that lie because you were trying to protect your identity, but… maybe you just couldn’t talk about it.” 

“I was scared that you would find out about Spider-Man and how much danger I got into on that occasion and ban me from ever wearing the suit again.” Peter admitted. 

“So, what changed?” 

“I… I don't know.” Peter lied. 

“Yes, you do.” Mr. Stark stated. 

Peter shot him a betrayed look before looking at the carpet, as though maybe that would hold the answers that he so desired. 

“I guess…” Peter faltered, how could he say it, how could he do something so ungrateful? 

Ben had died and Peter hadn't been able to help him, but he had been working towards paying off that debt by helping the little guy, he’d hoped that if he managed to save enough lives then maybe he would be able to free himself of the guilt that had been resting on his shoulders for so many months. 

Except… now he was letting go of even that. He wouldn't be free of the guilt, but May could stop him and take away the indecision of the matter - because he wanted to be stopped. 

“I guess I don't care anymore.” Peter admitted. 

“You don't care?” May asked, and Peter couldn't look her in the eye. Instead, he glanced at Mr. Stark to see how the other man was taking the news, only to see a blank expression - although his inner turmoil was given away by the twitch in his jaw. 

“No.” 

“You’re lying.” She decided. 

“I’m not,” Peter responded, realising how true it was, “I don't care if you take away Spider-Man anymore.” 

“Peter, I watched you sink after we lost Ben, and I saw you rise up again, clutching at Spider-Man with everything you are, how can you possibly be happy to accept that I could take that away from you?” May asked. “I would never have even considered it, because knowing you, you’d go behind my back and put on the suit again. What’s changed?” 

“He doesn't want to deal with the trauma of the past few weeks.” Mr. Stark said, his gaze fixed on Peter, unwavering. 

“Pete, come on-” Peter didn't hear any more. 

He didn't hear Mr. Stark’s shout of ‘May, no!’ or the smash of a cup as he keeled over towards the floor, ready to dig his fingers into the carpet in a desperate attempt to ground himself, 

I’ll kill you dead, Pete. 

Terrifying glowing green eyes burned into his soul from every angle. Their threat loud and clear, their intentions undeniable, he was going to be hurt. He would suffer. 

I’ll kill you dead, Pete. 

Kill you. 

Dead. 

Peter gasped for air, his fingers had been pulled out of the carpet, and instead they were digging into something soft and warm. Something… human… 

That was enough to cause him to jerk out of his fear with a completely separate fear that he was hurting someone close to him. The only two people in the room had been May and Mr. Stark and the thought of his nails digging into either of them was too much. 

“That’s it, Underoos, breathe through it.” Mr. Stark said gently, and Peter found that following his instructions was easy. 

He sucked in air through his teeth and closed his eyes, feeling tears dance along his lashes momentarily before dropping and bouncing off his cheek, resting somewhere below. 

When was he going to stop messing up? At what point would he stop being such a fuck up? At what point would Mr. Stark get fed up with helping? When would May? What then? 

“Peter, baby, can you open your eyes?” 

May. he would do anything for her, even open his eyes when all he wanted was to fade into non-existence. She wouldn't like to hear that, she would be terrified if she knew how much he was hurting inside, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare her any more than he already had. 

So, he opened his eyes and met her gaze. 

Crow’s feet had formed around her eyes at some point, Peter had missed their appearance because he had been so used to seeing his aunt smile, even in her grief she had always put on a smile for him. Except now, he’d caused her so much upset that she couldn't hide her concern or sorrow any longer. 

“Honey, I’m sorry.” She said soothingly, holding his face between her palms and stroking her thumbs beneath his eyes to wipe away the dampness that had formed. 

Why was she apologising? 

“No.” Peter said, his voice strained. “I’m sorry.” 

He glanced down to see that he was being supported against Mr. Stark, the older man’s arm around his chest - perhaps to stop him from clawing at the ground like the blood his fingernails suggested, he must have been really out of it to manage to do that against carpet. 

“I scratched you again.” Peter said quietly. 

“No biggie, Kiddo,” Mr. Stark whispered gently, “you should remind me to tell you about the time I shot Rhodey.” 

“Uh, I don't think he should.” May said shooting Mr. Stark a ‘what the hell is wrong with you?’ look. 

“Fine, fine,” Mr. Stark said placatingly, before slightly quieter adding, “remind me in the future, it’s a good story.” 

“Peter, I love you,” May said, “but I can’t watch you destroy yourself like this. You’re not ok, no matter how well you pretend to be.” 

“So you’re taking Spider-Man away from me?” Peter asked, hoping that the question didn't come out as hopeful as he intended it to. 

“Not a chance.” May said. 

Peter noticed that both he and Mr. Stark looked at her suddenly as though she had randomly sprouted another head. 

“Wait, what?” Mr. Stark asked. 

“I must admit, the thought did occur to me.” May said. “However, you accepting that is more concerning to me than any Spider-Man injuries you could come home with.”

“Even a stab wound?” Peter asked. 

“Now you’re just trying to scare me into banning you,” May said, “because you think then you have a good reason to stop, rather than admitting to people that you're scared to put on the suit again.” 

“She’s clever,” Mr. Stark commented, “I like her.” 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whined, the vowel elongated with the betrayal, “don't take her side.” 

“Why not? She’s right isn't she?” Mr. Stark asked. “We started to work through your issues yesterday, and after realising that you weren't instantly better and it was still a long road to recovery, you came out as Spider-Man in the hope that your guardian would ban your nightly activities meaning you could try to forget about all the trauma you went through.”

“I see why you're the greatest mind of the 21st century.” May complimented him. 

“Thank you.” 

“You both suck.” Peter decided, pulling out of Mr. Stark’s grip, and forcing himself to his feet. 

“Kid, we’re not enabling your unhealthy coping mechanisms.” Mr. Stark told him, with a kid but firm glance. 

“Would you both stop it?” Peter asked, suddenly exploding. “Why do you both seem to think that you know what’s best for me? I barely know you Mr. Stark, you’re not going to be able to fix me like a fucked up project! And May, you’re barely able to say Ben’s name without swallowing back tears! How do you both think that you know what’s best for me? 

“How can you say that I’m supposed to continue to be Spider-Man when neither of you guys have dealt with your own trauma? How can you sit there and preach your stupid preachy comments to try and prove that I should be someone I’m not?” 

“Kid, you need to calm down.” Mr. Stark said. 

“No!” Peter yelled. “I don't need to do anything, you can't make me, you think that you can force me to be something I’m not. You seem to think that you guys know everything when you don't know anything at all!” 

“Then tell us.” May pleaded tearfully. 

“I can’t shower without feeling like I’m drowning, I can't lie in my bedroom without seeing people breaking in to kill us in our sleep, I can't go in small spaces without feeling like there’s a building collapsing on me, every plane overhead reminds me of the crash. I see beaches and they’re on fire. I see ferries and I’m responsible for almost killing hundreds of people.” 

“That’s why you need help.” 

“No, that’s why the world is better off without Spider-Man.” Peter argued. “Every damn time I try to help I hurt people.” 

“You haven't hurt me,” Mr. Stark said. 

“Did you not hear what I just yelled at you?” Peter asked with a bitter laugh. 

“Well, yes, but-”

“But nothing.” Peter interrupted. 

Peter sighed and realised that they would never get what he was trying to say, maybe because he didn't even know what it was he was trying to say. So, he did the only logical thing that was left. 

He ran. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're almost there friends!! i can't believe it! thank you for reading! and thank you so much for all of the kudos/comments/bookmarks and subs!! you guys make me smile every time! i cant believe we hit 15.5k hits wtf?????????


	18. crane conversations

The water below Peter was a murky, green-blue colour. It was nothing at all like the terrifying black abyss that haunted the corners of his conscience, or the waves that threatened his dreams and tried to drown him in his sleep. It was rather peaceful looking really, or rather it would have been if not for the constant on edge feeling that his Spidey-Sense was supplying him with, because no matter how different it looked, he couldn’t deny that he was afraid of it. 

He was sitting cross-legged on a crane at the harbour, it was stretched out over the sea and if he faced a certain way and did his best to ignore his senses then it was almost like there was nothing around him. Like he was alone in the middle of the sea, with no way to return him. 

That was absolutely abhorrent, but it was also ever so slightly reassuring. 

Still though, he had one of his palms placed against the metal he was sitting on, using his Spider-Man abilities to stick to it. Even if a hurricane passed over him, he wouldn't be moved from his place on the crane, not so long as he continued to hold on. 

Why now? He wondered to himself, why now am I deciding to screw everything up? I have The Black Widow on my side, she’s teaching me to fight, I have Mr. Stark supporting me and helping to build a new Spider-Man suit, I have May supporting my nightly adventures. So why am I screwing everything up?

Peter stared into the murky water as though it had the answers… it didn't. 

“You know Kiddo,” a metallic voice said from beside him, “running off in the middle of a meltdown like that is seriously not cool.” 

Peter jolted in shock but remained glued to the crane. 

“How did you find me?” He asked, not shifting his gaze from the water below. 

There was a faint hiss and the subtle grinding of metal against metal, before Mr. Stark spoke again - this time the metallicness in his voice was gone. 

“It wasn't hard, I mean look at me, I’m Tony Stark.” 

“Yeah.” Peter agreed, not looking at him. 

“You know, you really scared your aunt there.” 

“Just my aunt?” 

“Well, I think you might have also concerned me a little… just a little though.” 

“Yeah.” Peter mumbled. “I’m sorry.” 

“For what, Kid? For running off? For dropping a couple of bombshells? For making all my efforts seem worthless because you don't know me as well as your aunt?” Mr. Stark asked, and Peter flinched as every question hit him. 

“I don't know why I’m acting like this.” Peter admitted. “It’s like I think one thing, and then a few minutes later I’ve done this complete one eighty and I’m suddenly admitting that I’m Spider-Man and wishing May would ground me eternally.” 

“Kid, you’re speaking to Mr. I Am Iron Man here.” Mr. Stark said. “We do stupid, impulsive shit to try and gloss over the fact that we’re suffering.” 

“Were you suffering when you did that?” Peter asked, before his eyes widened as he processed the words he had just said. “Sorry, you don't have to answer that, it might be a little sensitive.” 

“It is, but because it is, I’ll answer,” Mr. Stark said, “we have to talk about the sensitive things, Kiddo, we can't bottle everything up. When I confessed to being Iron Man, I was revelling in the attention, because it was all suddenly on what I could do - not what I’d been through. 

“I’d been kidnapped and tortured in Afghanistan, my closest family member had betrayed me, and I had completely rejigged my business and lost so many investors that I was beginning to rethink my plan. So, I did whatever it took to change what people were talking about.” 

“You made the conversation about Iron Man” 

“Just like you were trying to make it about Spider-Man.” Mr. Stark agreed. “But this is what you didn't know, by doing that, you were making your cry for help even louder.”

“How?”

“Because giving up on something you love isn't the way to get better.” Mr. Stark said. “I should know, I almost lost Pepper.”

“I can't imagine that.” Peter admitted.

“Well, you best try,” Mr. Stark said, “because I’m not lying.”

Peter sighed and stared down into the water, he listened to the sound of the Iron Man suit opening up and Mr. Stark stepping out onto the metal crane with him. His heart panged in fear for the older man who didn't possess the same balancing abilities as the spider, or the sticking abilities. 

“You should stay in your suit.” Peter mumbled. 

“You should have stayed on the ground,” Mr. Stark retorted, “I guess we’re both doing dumb shit today.” 

“Hmm.” Was Peter’s only response to that. 

Mr. Stark shakily sat down beside Peter, who pretended that he couldn't hear his new mentor figure’s heart beating rapidly with fear. The man was scared, and he still was sitting there for Peter’s sake, what did that say about him? 

“You were out of line earlier.” Mr. Stark said to him.

“Yeah, I know,” Peter mumbled, “all of that stuff I said, I didn't mean it.” 

“Then why say it?” Mr. Stark asked as though he already knew. 

“Because then the attention was on what I said rather than what I was going through.” Peter said quietly, quoting the other man’s earlier words. 

Mr. Stark hummed quietly, shifting his weight on the metal. 

“Your Aunt is really worried about you.” He commented. 

“I’m sorry.” Peter apologised. 

“Why are you sorry?” Mr. Stark asked, turning to face Peter who resolutely stared away. 

“I dunno,” Peter said with a shrug, “feels right to be. I guess I feel a little bad for causing May to worry.” 

“She’s your guardian, it’s her job to worry about you,” Mr. Stark said, “and honestly kid, I’m worried about you too, even though I’m just some guy who’s plane you crashed and ass you saved from certain doom from S.H.I.E.L.D. and the government, I worry about your wellbeing - you’re not ok, Underoos.”

“I know,” Peter said quietly, “I know I’m not.”

“Trying to give up Spider-Man is no way to make things better,” Mr. Stark told him, “you’re just going to make yourself more miserable in the long run.” 

“I don't know what to do then,” Peter admitted, hating himself for the way his throat tightened with the confession and how he felt tears prick in the corners of his eyes, “I just want to give everything up, and maybe then things will be easier, maybe if I was just Peter…”

“I get where you’re coming from Kiddo,” Mr. Stark said, “I really do, but that’s not gonna cut it.” 

Peter sighed, staring at the waves, he had expected that answer. 

“I know this is hard, I know it feels like it’s getting harder each day, but you’re making great progress.” 

Peter couldn't stop the wet scoff from escaping as a tear dripped down one of his cheeks, “then why does it feel like everything is more and more suffocating?” 

“Because you’re finally talking about things,” Mr. Stark said, “you’re letting yourself open up to everything you’re going through in an attempt to deal with it, but you’re not actually letting yourself deal.”

“It just seems like a lot of work.” 

“Of course it is,” Mr. Stark said, “but that’s why you have to do it, put in the work, Kid, and soon you’ll be back out there swinging between the buildings making the world hold its breath as we all think you’re about to collide with a window.” 

Peter snorted, “I would never hit a window.”

“You sound offended.”

“Well, yeah, I’m too good for that.” Peter said, finally looking up with red rimmed eyes. 

“And that right there, Kid, is why you won’t give up Spider-Man.” Mr. Stark said. 

“You set me up for that.” 

“Of course I did, I’m Tony Stark,” he said as though it should have been obvious., “I’ve also been through trauma, I know how to spot it, I know how to evade it, and I know all the tricks of trying to prove you’re better when you're not, and all the signs of letting others make the choices for you.”

Peter pursed his lips momentarily, “I never stood a chance.”

“Nah, now you stand all the chances.” 

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, with only the sound of the waves crashing against one another and the faint hum of the Iron Man suit lingering near them. 

It was strange, his life had become so surreal, so turbulent, and chaotic. He would have never thought six months ago that Tony Stark would be talking him through panic attacks and helping him deal with his emotions - Tony Stark, the man who was famously known for being an emotionless android; a man too similar to the AI’s he created. 

Although if Peter had learned anything about the man, it was that the media couldn't be more wrong about him - he was far more than they implied and there was no way that Peter could take any of those articles seriously now. Not that he had before. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked after a moment. 

“Yeah, Kiddo?” 

“Do you think I could come around tomorrow and work with you and Miss. Romanoff again?” Peter waited for the no to fall, for Mr. Stark to tell him that he’d had one chance, but he screwed it up and proved he was too immature to work with the Black Widow. 

“Sure, Kid, I’ll text Nat later tonight and make sure she’s at The Compound tomorrow.” Was all Mr. Stark said instead. 

“Really?” 

“Really, and I’ll send Happy to pick you up this time, I don't want you to make a habit of swinging that distance.” Mr. Stark said with a frown. 

“It’s fine, really, he must be busy.” Peter said quickly. 

“Kid, his only job is to do what I tell him, so he has time, trust me.”

“I do.” Peter said, and he was being honest - he did trust Mr. Stark, more than he thought he would if he was being honest. 

“Good,” Mr. Stark said after a moment of stunned silence - maybe at Peter’s confession or at the honesty, “alright then, how about we head back to your Aunt and fill her in?”

“Do I have to?” Peter asked as guilt swirled in his stomach making it feel almost as turbulent as the waves below. Oh, how it would be so much easier to just let himself fall, give himself to the mercy of the sea and then never have to deal with any of his problems again. 

Except… he was scared of the sea, he was terrified of the dangers that lay beneath the surface of the waves, and he was fully expecting himself to someday be stuck under the surface of the water, unable to escape. 

“You owe her an explanation.” Mr. Stark told him. 

“I owe her more than that.” Peter admitted. “I said something awful to her.”

“You were hurting.” 

“That doesn't give me the right to hurt the people around me in retaliation.” Peter said with a small shrug. “I mentioned Ben to her and brought up how much she’d been struggling since his death.”

Mr. Stark hummed without saying anything - maybe he was just letting Peter talk, or maybe he didn't know what to say, but either way it was appreciated, it meant that Peter could ramble. 

“May and Ben took me in after I lost my parents,” Peter admitted, “I was really young at the time and I don't remember them, or remember losing them, so Ben and May were all I actually knew. They were essentially my parents even though they weren't ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’. They did everything for me.

“We lost my Uncle a few months ago, not long after I turned into Spider-Man actually, and then it was just me and May. She used to hold it together all day for me, she would remain strong, she wouldn't let me see her grief, she would be the strongest person I had ever known. But then, it would hit the night time and when I was in bed she would cry and beg for him to come back, I could only hear her because of my enhanced senses. It was my fault he died; you know?” 

“Kid, there’s no way that’s true.” Mr. Stark said, finally speaking up. 

“It is though, I’d only just become Spider-Man and I was sneaking out at nights to practice my skills,” Peter admitted, “I wasn't very sneaky then, it was obvious that I was leaving, I didn't know how to cover my tracks.” 

“So?” 

“So, me and Ben got into a huge fight one night and I stormed out, I didn't really have anywhere to go, but I left anyway. Of course, Ben being Ben, he followed me.”

“He loved you, of course he did.”

“Yeah, but that meant that he was the target of a mugging, and I had the ability to stop it from happening, but I froze.” Peter said quietly. “I froze and he was shot.” 

“Kid, that’s not your fault.” Mr. Stark said, his voice coming out strained, was that because he was lying? Did he think that Peter was the worst person to exist now? Was he as disappointed in Peter as he was in himself? 

“How could it not be?” Peter asked. “I was the reason he was out of the house; I was the one with the ability to stop him, I was the one to step back and let it happen.” 

“You didn't let anything happen.” Mr. Stark said as he shuffled himself along the crane that they were sitting on and awkwardly held his hand above Peter’s shoulders for a split second before letting it wrap around them and hold on in what Peter supposed was meant to be a comforting gesture. 

“I appreciate the kind words, but you won’t change my mind Mr. Stark.” Peter said quietly. 

“I will eventually.” Mr. Stark said surely. “No matter how long it takes, I will. After all, you’re not the one who made the decision to go out and harm an innocent man, and you spend all your free time helping others. You’re a good kid.” 

“I hurt my Aunt because I was scared.” Peter retorted. 

“We all do dumb shit,” Mr. Stark said with a small smile, “what’s important is how we own that dumb shit. So, you can sit here wallowing or you can come back to your Aunt’s with me and apologise, and then we’ll tell her everything that is going on.” 

“What if she’s mad?” Peter asked.

“Then you hold your chin up, bite your tongue, and accept whatever grounding or punishment she deems fit for the crime.” Mr. Stark said. 

“Do you do that?”

“Of course not, I’m Tony Stark,” Mr. Stark said with a scoff, “but you’re going to be better than me, Kid.” 

“I don't know about that,” Peter said before sighing and shuffling out from under Mr. Stark’s arm to stand up, “but I can face May, that I do know.”

“Good,” Mr. Stark said, “but can we maybe get down from here, you’re making me anxious standing there.” 

“You shouldn't have left your suit,” Peter admonished with a frown.

“Comfort isn't comforting if it’s coming from a tin can.” Mr. Stark said, sounding a lot like he was quoting someone - perhaps Miss. Potts? 

“Uh huh.” Peter muttered, as he listened to the sounds of Mr. Stark carefully climbing back into his suit while he himself crawled down the crane with practiced ease. 

“You know, Kid, that’s kinda creepy.” Mr. Stark commented as Peter met him on the ground. 

“It’s fun.” Peter said with a shrug. 

“You defy gravity.” Mr. Stark countered. 

“Yeah, well, so does your suit,” Peter said with a shrug, “sometimes we have to be ordinary people doing extraordinary things to make a difference.”

“A quote from TV?” Mr. Stark asked him.

“No, from Ben.” Peter admitted with a tight-lipped smile. “I think I have to take his advice and go home now.”

“How about this?” Mr. Stark asked. “You pull your hoodie tight around your face so no one can see who you are, and you can web to my suit - or stick to it - and I’ll fly you back as a treat?”

“Yeah,” Peter said with a large, genuine grin, “that sounds good.”

So that was how Peter found himself whooping in joy as he was flown through the air trailing from a web that was connected to Mr. Stark’s back. Occasionally he would have to shoot out another web to stop himself from hitting a building or because one of Mr. Stark’s repulsors had burned through his webbing. 

But it was fun, and it was a temporary distraction from everything that Peter was going through, it was a bit of fun to break up the pain and trauma that he had been suffocating beneath during the previous days. 

That was until they were about a block away from Peter’s apartment and Mr. Stark landed so that he could climb out of the suit and walk up with Peter, in an attempt to not draw too much attention. They couldn't have people knowing Spider-Man’s identity and address after all. 

“May?” Peter called as he opened the unlocked door to their apartment, why hadn't she locked it behind them? That was almost enough to cause him to break out in a cold, panicked sweat, and he shot an anxious glance at Mr. Stark only to find the other man completely relaxed as though nothing was wrong. 

“Peter, oh honey!” She said quickly as she ran into the hallway, skidding slightly thanks to her socks against the wooden floor. 

Peter instantly relaxed, she was fine, of course she was - she was May. 

“Oh, Sweetie, don't do that!” She scolded him, and Peter felt nausea twist in his stomach as he took in her red rimmed eyes and slightly pink nose. She had been crying - because of him. “You jumped out a window! I thought I was about to die on the spot when I saw that!” 

“May, I’m so sorry,” Peter said quietly as he was pulled into a tight hug, “I should never have said any of those things that I did, that was totally out of line.” 

“Yeah, it was,” she agreed, “but honestly, I forgive you, you don't need to beat yourself up Peter.” 

“But I-” 

“Made a mistake and apologised,” May interrupted, “I forgive you, but you’re not completely off the hook, and neither are you.” 

With that May pulled back slightly and her gaze shifted onto Mr. Stark, making the older man shuffle slightly under her watch. 

“I have questions for the two of you.” She declared. 

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Peter mumbled, and he walked back into the living room, listening to the sound of Mr. Stark’s footsteps just behind him. That was reassuring, the older man was there with him and Peter knew that he wouldn't have to face anything alone, not when he had the best Aunt in the world and a new mentor figure in Mr. Stark. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the amazingly kind comments and for each and every kudos/subscription/bookmark! You guys are being so wonderfully supportive! I appreciate each and every one of you lovely people!! <33 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @[ephemeralstark](https://ephemeralstark.tumblr.com/) where I accept prompts!! Also, if you liked this, why not check out one of my other fics?


	19. soon you'll get better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the second to last chapter...

Not long after arriving back to the apartment and facing May’s relentless questions, Peter excused himself for a moment. Making up an excuse that he could barely remember as his brain screamed at him to get out, get some space. It wasn't his Spidey-Sense for once, but rather his Panic-Sense - that small part of his brain that made the connection between his rapidly increasing respiratory rate and sweaty palms and told him to take a moment. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Peter?” May asked, pausing him in his tracks with a gentle hand on his arm. He stared down at it for a brief moment, trying to remember the excuse that he had come up with.

“Yeah, fine, I’ll just be a few minutes.” Peter said, forcing a smile onto his face for her benefit, although he could tell that she wasn't convinced by his act. 

“Alright.” She said, pulling back her hand to allow him to continue on his way. 

He barely made it to the bathroom before his breathing had turned into audible gasps and wheezing pleads to someone who wasn't listening. With a shaking hand and his last coherent brain cell, he twisted the lock on the door to make sure no one would follow him in, before sliding down said door until he was sitting on the cold, harsh tiles. 

“C-come on, P-Peter,” he gasped out, wasting valuable breaths as he tried to talk himself through a panic attack that he didn't even know the origin of, “c-come on.” 

His shoulders rose and fell dramatically as he tried his hardest to steady his breathing, taking air in so harshly through his nose that it whistled and expelling it from his lips through gritted teeth. 

He placed his palms flat on the cold tiles in the hopes that the smooth coolness would stop his hands from being visibly shaky, although why that mattered he didn't know, as he was the only one who could see them tremble; not for the first time, he was alone in his panic. 

“He can do so much, Tony.” Peter heard his Aunt say through the walls and doors. “I never even dreamed that my Peter, the kid I raised, would be out there fighting criminals and making the streets a safer place.” 

“He’s a brilliant Kid,” Mr. Stark agreed, “but just remember that it may be a while before he’s out there doing the Spider-Man thing again.” 

“I don't know how to support him,” May admitted, probably only saying those words because she didn't realise just how good his hearing was, “he’s been through so much, and Spider-Man was just a decent guy on the TV and the news until today, I didn't realise that the person going through all of those things, was my Peter.” 

“No one realises that,” Mr. Stark said quietly, “no one thinks about the man behind the mask, that’s why it's so important that we do. He’s going to be alright; he’s got us.” 

“You’re not what I expected,” May admitted quietly, “you’re kinder than the papers portray you. Sorry, was that too rude?” 

“No,” Mr. Stark said with a bark of laughter, “no, you’re right, I changed a lot after meeting Peter and realising that this kid was more selfless than anyone I’ve ever met, and he messed up his mental and physical health to help me. The least I could do is not be a dick and return the favour.” 

“He’s easy to love.” May said gently. 

“He is that.” Mr. Stark agreed. 

A warmth spread through Peter, one that made a small smile appear on his face and before he realised it, he was breathing normally - or rather, slightly more normal. His breathing was still slightly jagged, and slightly shallow, but he was listening to two people talk about him with concern and fondness, he was loved. 

“I have to admit though, I’m scared for him.” May said quietly. “He’s not his usual self, he’s more restrained and sometimes I look at him and it’s like he’s in another world.” 

“He’s been having panic attacks.” Mr. Stark told her, revealing Peter’s embarrassing secret easily, but strangely enough Peter couldn't say that he cared that she knew. “He’s trying to work through things, but he seems to think that he’s not making quick enough progress.” 

“Is he?” May asked. 

“He’s a kid dealing with trauma, there’s no time limit on these things,” Mr. Stark said, “I’m confident that he’ll make it through to the other side soon enough.” 

“Is it a bad idea to ask him to talk me through everything that happened?” May asked. 

“Probably.” Mr. Stark said. “He sat here and talked about how he became Spider-Man, and he told us about his abilities and nuances, so I think that may be enough for one day. After all, he struggled to talk after sparring with the Black Widow, I don't think he’s going to have much success without a sufficient distraction.” 

“True,” May murmured, “the last thing I want is for him to have another panic attack.” 

Peter bit back a slightly hysterical chuckle, oh if only she knew what he was doing on the bathroom floor. 

“He’s going to have them,” Mr. Stark said, “they’re going to linger for a while and sometimes it’s going to feel impossible to see the light at the end of the tunnel but eventually one day you’ll both look back and realise that it’s been a while since any panic attacks have occurred.” 

“And then that’ll be him fixed?” May asked, her voice begging for a confirmation. 

“May, he’s not broken,” Mr. Stark said, and Peter laid his head back against the bathroom door with a small smile playing on his lips, his mentor figure didn't think he was broken, that was more reassuring than Peter had expected it to be, “but if you’re asking if that’ll be the end of the panic attacks, then the answer is probably not, it’s just another small stepping stone across an ocean.” 

“Peter won’t like that.” May said with a sigh. “But he is a smart kid, he knows that things aren’t always perfect.” 

“He’s definitely smart.” Mr. Stark agreed. 

Peter took another deep breath in, pleased to find that it was a success, he then lifted his hands off the tiled floor and held them out in front of himself. They were trembling ever so slightly, but that could be mistaken as nerves by his Aunt, after all, he was undeniably anxious about the conversations that he knew would be taking place in the future. 

“I just can’t believe I didn't realise any of the other stuff.” May said quietly, making Peter pause. “Like it took me a little bit of time, but eventually I worked out that he was Spider-Man, I just didn't realise that his senses were so delicate, or that his metabolism had sky rocketed - I thought he was just a teenager…” 

“You can’t beat yourself up for that,” Mr. Stark said to her, “Peter didn't want you to know.” 

“All the more reason why I should have,” May said, “the only time he hides things is when he’s being all self-sacrificial.” 

“I noticed.” Mr. Stark said with a wry smile. 

“He’s been gone for a while; do you think he’s alright?” May asked. 

“I’ll tell you what,” Mr. Stark suggested, “why don’t you relax and actually drink some of that coffee you keep making, and I’ll go spider catching.” 

Peter listened to May laughing and groaned to himself - she was charmed by Mr. Stark, that meant that Peter would never hear the end of it. Of all the situations he had imagined when he thought about the potential for May and Mr. Stark to meet, them getting along perfectly had not been high up on the list. 

“Hey, Kiddo?” Mr. Stark’s shoes scuffed at the uneven floorboards outside the bathroom and Peter could hear the note of uncertainty in his voice. “Are you wanting to talk?” 

“I-” Peter was forced to clear his throat as the word came out in a croak, “I don't know.” 

“Alright,” Mr. Stark said easily, “can you at least open the door so that I can see you’re alright?” 

That was a fair request, Peter decided, and so with an ever so slightly trembling hand he reached up to the lock and turned it with a click that felt like a weight lifted off his shoulder. He shuffled around to face the door and let it swing open towards him, revealing Mr. Stark on the other side of the doorway. 

“Great,” he said as though he was just as surprised as Peter at the obvious sign of trust, “alright, well, I’m not being the fool who stands up when you obviously have the superior idea here.” 

And so, Mr. Stark sat down, mimicking Peter’s cross-legged pose, although Peter had to say that his knees hadn't cracked as loudly as Mr. Stark’s, like seriously? Had the man broken something merely by sitting down? Should Peter call for help?

“We were beginning to miss you through there.” Mr. Stark said quietly.

“I heard.” Peter mumbled. 

“I know,” Mr. Stark said, “I meant it Kiddo, you aren’t broken.”

“I guess not,” Peter said, pulling at a thread on his sleeve and causing the fabric to wrinkle around it, “I mean, everything you said makes sense, but I just never believed it, you know?”

“You’ve been through a fucking nightmare.” Mr. Stark said and Peter couldn't help but let out a breathy laugh through his nose at that. 

Mr. Stark could use his wisdom, his intellect, his impressive vocabulary, and even his life experience to try and connect with Peter but the truth was it was an absolute fucking nightmare. That was kind of what Peter had needed to hear. 

“I did think it had broken me.” Peter admitted. “Like, not at first, because I was repressing it so much, but as time started to pass I realised that there was more to it that just what happened - I was starting to learn that the after effects were just as bad, if not worse than the original situation and that made it difficult to ignore any more.” 

“Ignoring trauma only works for so long.” Mr. Stark agreed. 

“Is that why you were so determined to help me?” Peter asked. 

“No…” Mr. Stark trailed off seemingly deep in thought, “I guess, I thought I owed you something at first.” 

“Owed me?” 

“Yeah, for saving my ass,” Mr. Stark said, “but I thought that I would give you a shiny new suit, set you up some self-defence classes and maybe teach you how to pick a fight you can’t lose.” 

“The fights that risk it all are sometimes the most important ones.” Peter mumbled. 

“Yeah, they are,” Mr. Stark said, “and I realised not long after meeting you, that you already know how to be a hero, what you didn't know was how to be a teenager.” 

“I’m great at being a teenager,” Peter argued, “look at me, I’m fifteen - I’d say that makes me better at it than you.” 

“You’ve got the age thing on your side,” Mr. Stark agreed, “but you don't have the stupidity and overwhelming joy at the stupidest of things.” 

“You’re saying I can’t see the funny side of things?” Peter asked. “Because I had Vine Mr. Stark, did you?” 

“Kid, I’m not denying that, I’m just saying that the things you went through put a shadow over your head.” Mr. Stark said. 

“Yeah,” Peter said, his back slumping slightly as he gave up his pointless fight, “yeah, it did. Instead of teaching me to be a superhero, you were teaching me how to be a kid again?” 

“I was trying my best to show you that sometimes heroism and trauma come hand in hand, you can't do the things we do without seeing some shit, but you have to be able to deal with it and create a stable support base.” Mr. Stark said. “I don't think I was the best teacher admittedly-” 

“You’re the best teacher.” Peter interrupted. 

“I- what?” Mr. Stark asked. 

“I said, ‘you’re the best teacher’,” Peter said, “and I meant it, you’ve done everything you possibly could for me, Mr. Stark.” 

“Kid I-” 

“No,” Peter interrupted, “if you’re about to tell me that you’re the reason I was in danger in the first place then kindly shut up, you didn't do anything wrong. Toomes was the bad guy in this story.” 

“Story?” Mr. Stark asked with an upward quirk of his lips. 

“Well,” Peter shrugged, “I like to think that we all have stories in us.” 

“Maybe we do kiddo, but just know that Toomes was merely your prologue, you still have so much ahead of you.” Mr. Stark said. 

“I know.” 

“So, what do you say we get off this floor and head back through to your Aunt?” Mr. Stark proposed. 

“I-” Peter faltered, losing some of the new confidence that he had found on the bathroom floor, “can we have a few more minutes?” 

“Of course.” Mr. Stark said and without any further questions he leaned back so that he was resting against the wall opposite the opened bathroom door. 

They must have looked quite a sight. 

“Don't you want to know why?” Peter asked, cocking his head in confusion. 

“Do you want to tell me?” Mr. Stark asked him. 

“No.” Peter said immediately. “Well, maybe, yes, I don't know.” 

“That’s a lot of mixed messages there,” Mr. Stark said with a small smile, “why don't you think about it for a moment.”

“I don't know why I don't want to go back yet.” Peter admitted. “That’s why I don't know if I want to share, because I really don't know what to say or share.” 

“Do you want to hold things back from your Aunt?” Mr. Stark prompted. 

“No, absolutely not,” Peter said, “it’s just… different.” 

“Talking to her?” Mr. Stark wondered. 

“Yeah, like, I know that if I say something to you then it’s fine, you get it,” Peter said, “you know how it feels to go through this, you know the twisted, irrational feelings that fly through you at a pace so quick it gives you whiplash, but she…” 

“She’s got no idea.” Mr. Stark said. 

“Exactly.” Peter said. 

“You don't want to let her see that side of you,” Mr. Stark stated, watching him carefully, “not because you think she’ll think you’re weak, but because you’re trying to protect her?” 

“Yeah, she shouldn't know that things are that much of a struggle.” Peter said. 

“Oh, Peter,” May’s voice was unexpected and his head jolted up in shock to see her standing in the hallway, a steaming mug in her hands - coffee, judging by the bitter scent, “you don't need to hide these things from me, even if I don't understand, I’m here for you.” 

“But-” 

“No,” May interrupted, “give me a moment to talk, alright?” 

Peter nodded stiffly. She glanced between the two of them, both sitting cross-legged on the floor and sighed to herself before copying them. Leaning against the same wall as Mr. Stark so that she could face Peter. 

“Peter, I may not have been through the things you have, or anything that Tony has,” she said gently, “I may not know how it feels to have a panic attack, or to wake up from nightmares of horrifying ordeals every night, I don’t know how it feels to think that someone is out to kill the people you love - although I’m starting to get an idea on that one - and I may not always know the right thing to say to you when you're scared, or hurting, but you know that I do know?” 

“What?” Peter asked in a small voice. 

“I know how to look after you.” May said gently. “I know what it means you love you and make sure that you’re as safe as can be. I know how to worry about your wellbeing, I know how to comfort you in the evenings when the sadness becomes too much, I know how to stroke your hair so that you fall asleep and I know how to tell when your pain is more than I can comprehend.” 

“That’s a lot of stuff to know.” Peter said through a thick throat.

“You know what else I know?” She asked him softly, he shook his head. “I know that sometimes I’m not the person you need, and that’s alright. It’s ok if you want to talk to Tony about these things and not me, I won’t hold that against you, not now, not ever. But, Sweetie, please know that I am here if you ever decide that I’m the one you want to talk to.” 

“May, you know that even when I go to Mr. Stark with things, I still love you right?” 

“Oh, Honey, “May said with a smile, “of course you love me, I make you your favourite Banoffee Pudding all the time.” 

“Yeah… my favourite.” Peter said with a fixed grin. 

“You mean it’s not?” May asked. 

“May I absolutely adore you, but you can’t cook for shit.” Peter said. 

“Hey! Language!” May scolded, before frowning to herself, “but all of this time, you’ve eaten it without a complaint.” 

“We do strange things for the people we love.” Peter said cheekily. 

“Huh,” May said, “hey, Tony? Do you want to adopt a kid? He’s toilet trained I promise-” 

“May!” Peter protested with red cheeks.

“-he just runs his mouth sometimes.” May finished, without a hesitation. 

“Uh, thanks,” Mr. Stark said with a laugh, “I’m flattered that you thought I was a worthy parental figure but trust me, the Kid is better off with you… well, as long as you stop trying to poison him.”

“Really?” May asked. “You too?”

“What can I say?” Mr. Stark asked with a shrug. “The kid has pictures of some of your, uh, ‘creations’ and if I didn't know better, I would have thought you were genuinely trying to kill him.” Mr. Stark admitted. 

“I think I’m going to leave you two and go and get comfortable,” May said with a sniff, “you guys are choosing to sit on the floor - you obviously don’t know quality.” 

“I’m a billionaire!” Mr. Stark called after her. 

“With bad taste.” May called back, sending Peter into peals of laughter. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go.... oh how sad I'm going to be to say goodbye to this fic! Please let me know what your thoughts are and are you ready for the end?? 
> 
> I am so so appreciative of all the lovely comments, and I reread them constantly! Thank you my lovelies! 
> 
> [ Also, come join the MCU Creators discord group! ](https://discord.gg/JjEvSZp)


	20. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here it is... the end of the line...

Peter landed in a crouch on the grass outside the Avenger’s Compound with a small grunt. Wow, that move really took a toll on the knees, he needed to figure out a better way to land or he wouldn’t be coping too well with his Spider-Man duties in ten years’ time.

_Huh,_ Peter thought to himself, _that’s the first time since the plane crash that I’ve actually considered becoming Spider-Man again long term._

The crash had been months and months ago, perhaps it should have been a blip on his radar; something that he had recovered from, but somehow that night still felt as clear in his mind as the last few minutes had, if not clearer.

_“Hello, Peter, I wasn’t expecting you today,”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. said as she seamlessly opened the door, allowing Peter to walk into the compound without any hesitation in his stride.

“Hey, F.R.I., how’s your day going?” He asked cheerfully.

_“Very well thank you,”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. had long since given up on telling him that there was no point in asking how her day had been because she was a bodiless A.I. with no ability to have a good or bad day, _“would you like me to alert Mr. Stark to your arrival?”_

“Uh, no thanks, I was hoping to surprise him,” Peter admitted.

_“Very well, he’s in the Workshop, I can allow you access since he is already in there,”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. said.

Peter couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that, of course she would mention his ban from entering the labs alone. He set fire to one web fluid attempt and suddenly he was ‘to be watched’ and ‘a risk to science’, granted the fire had set off the sprinkler system which had destroyed around three months’ worth of research, but still…

Peter ran through The Compound, shaking off the memory of that incident in favour of reminding himself of his reason for being there.

“Morning Colonel Rhodes,” he called out as he made his way through the lounge area where Colonel Rhodes was sipping at a coffee while F.R.I.D.A.Y. projected the morning news onto a large screen.

“Hey, Peter, shouldn’t you be at school?” Colonel Rhodes asked, too used to his presence in The Compound to question why a teenager was running around.

“That’s a future me problem,” Peter muttered, “I’m away down to see Mr. Stark.”

“Alright,” Rhodey said with a laugh, “don’t forget to tell him that skipping school is a future you problem.”

“Uh huh,” Peter mumbled on his way out as he carried on his way, he had made the journey to the Workshop so often that he was sure he could do it with his eyes closed.

In the early days of his and Mr. Stark’s hesitant mentor and mentee relationship, Peter wouldn’t have been as cocky as to assume such a thing; in fact, back then he had been sure that the older man had purposefully designed the hallways to be as confusing as possible, maybe to trip up intruders, or maybe just because he could.

Maybe he enjoyed the befuddled look of confusion on Peter’s face when he walked into a broom closet for the third time in one afternoon as he tried to find his way to the Workshop, and he for sure liked the mystified look on Peter’s face when he found him in the doorway holding eight mops.

_“Mr. Stark, there is no mess on this Earth that needs eight mops,”_ Peter had told him with a serious, yet confused, frown.

Of course, Peter had ended up being the one with egg on his face when that very day Pepper had to run to the store for more mops because of the mess they had created… eight mops had not been nearly enough. It was thanks to that day that the broom closet now contained twelve mops.

“Hey, Underoos, fancy meeting you here at ten o’clock on a school day,” Mr. Stark commented as Peter ran into the Workshop, skidding to a stop in the middle of the room.

“You’re not surprised,” Peter commented.

“I _am_ the one who programmed the A.I. who runs this place,” Mr. Stark reminded him.

“Of course she snitched on me.”

Mr. Stark let out a laugh and laid his tools down on the table, “so, care to explain why you’re not in class?”

“It’s as I told Colonel Rhodes,” Peter said with a grin, “that’s a problem for future me.”

“Right,” Mr. Stark said, “and for future me too if the text I got half an hour ago is anything to go by.”

“May already knows?” Peter asked. “She texted you?”

“No, your school texted me to say that you weren’t in homeroom this morning,” Mr. Stark explained, “and if they texted me…”

“My school texts you?” Peter asked.

“That’s the part you’re focusing on?”

“It’s a pretty significant thing to pay attention to,” Peter said, “when were you added to my list of emergency contacts?”

“Uh,” Mr. Stark seemed to be thinking about it, “around the time your aunt told me that I had to be on hand for any Spider-Man issues otherwise she’d gut me like a fish and serve me up as a cat’s breakfast.”

“Do you think that means she’s planning to get me a cat?” Peter wondered.

“Are you planning sabotage, Underoos?” Mr. Stark asked, staring at him with narrowed eyes while Peter smirked and pretended to consider it, “great! You dedicate your time and life to protecting and helping a kid for months on end only to have him turn around and betray you just so he can get a cat.”

“Oh, speaking of all your help,” Peter said suddenly, forgetting about the cat, “I did actually skip school for a good reason.”

“Yeah? What reason was that?”

“I took a shower this morning,” Peter said with pride flushed cheeks.

“I thought you smelled better than usual,” Mr. Stark commented.

“Hey!” Peter protested.

“No, in all seriousness, Kiddo, I’m proud of you.”

“I mean, it was a short one,” Peter said, downplaying how huge a milestone it was, “it only lasted around five minutes because I was paranoid about the potential for panic, but I didn’t, Mr. Stark! I didn’t panic or cry, and I washed my hair!”

“Why didn’t you lead with that?” Mr. Stark asked, jumping up from his stool in excitement for Peter, “have you told Nat yet? We should go and find her!”

“What? No!” Peter protested. “Mr. Stark, you cannot tell The Black Widow that it took me this long to shower.”

“Kid, you’ve been spilling your guts to her for months now,” Mr. Stark told him, “she’d be happy for you.”

Peter knew she would be, but this was The Black Widow; he looked up to her and sure, she was there for him throughout everything, but this was _Natasha Romanov._

“I just don’t want her to know,” Peter said quietly, “this is something really embarrassing.”

“There’s nothing emba-”

“-embarrassing about trauma,” Peter interrupted, “yeah, you’ve told me that a million times, but Mr. Stark, it took me over six months to be able to take a shower, that’s six months of taking baby baths – I was only missing the rubber duck.”

“Alright,” Mr. Stark said easily, “I stand by the fact that you have nothing to be ashamed of, but if you want this to stay between us, then it will.”

A wide grin broke out across Peter’s face, “thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“No worries, kiddo,” Mr. Stark said before pulling him into an easy hug, “by the way, I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Peter couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“Don’t tell May I said that word in front of you,” Mr. Stark said, pulling away, “that’s her word.”

“I thought it was Miss. Potts’.”

“No, Pep’s word is ‘shit’,” Mr. Stark said, with a serious expression, “keep up, Underoos.”

Peter couldn’t stop himself from laughing at that, Mr. Stark had a gentle humour about him, something that Peter wouldn’t have ever predicted of the billionaire, and yet… he was the one Peter knew he could go to whenever he was struggling, he trusted Mr. Stark implicitly.

“Well, I think this deserves a reward,” Mr. Stark decided, making Peter perk up.

“A reward? Is it ice cream?”

“Really?” Mr. Stark asked. “That’s all you would have wanted? I seriously went over the top then.”

“Mr. Stark… what did you do?” Peter asked worriedly, was this going to be yet another thing Peter would never be able to pay him back for?

Had he bought him a house? A car? A country? An island? The earth? The moon?

Oh jeez, Peter knew the man was difficult to reign in and often went over the top with ridiculously extravagant gifts, but the moon was just too much. What would Peter even do with it? It’s not like he could visit; he didn't own a rocket and he had no idea how to build or fly one so he’d have to ask Mr. Stark for that too and then he would just be being greedy. But without it he couldn't visit his moon and then Mr. Stark would think that he didn't appreciate it. Why couldn't Mr. Stark just not care?

“Underoos, you need to close your eyes,” Mr. Stark prompted, “haven’t you ever received a gift before?”

“Sorry,” Peter mumbled before doing as he was told.

He mentally prepared his expressions of gratitude, he needed to prove to Mr. Stark that he appreciated whatever he was about to receive. The older man had already done too much for him, Peter didn’t deserve anything more.

“Kiddo, you can breathe,” Mr. Stark said with a quiet laugh, “don’t pass out on me.”

“I’m not passing out,” Peter said, although he did suck in a breath of air which made him realise how desperate he had been for it.

“Alright,” Mr. Stark said, “open them up.”

Peter did, and for a split second his heart stopped, and he was convinced that the moon was genuinely hanging before him, that was until he looked slightly closer and realised that this was something more beautiful.

“Mr. Stark…” Peter trailed off, holding a hand out before himself towards the beautiful orb before him, it pulsed and moved, expanding around his hand as though it were shaking it in greeting, “what is this?”

“This is file SM 01-09-0812,” Mr. Stark said gently, walking around to the other side as Peter pulled his hand back, he could see his mentor through the orb.

“File… what?” Peter blinked, nope, it was still there.

“SM 01-09-0812,” Mr. Stark said, “say hello.”

Peter initially thought that Mr. Stark had been talking to him and he opened his mouth to say hello to the strange orb, but then a soft, female voice filled the room.

_“Hello, Peter, it’s nice to meet you.”_

“Mr. Stark…” Peter stepped closer to the orb, that he was beginning to realise was the physical manifestation of a coded A.I.

“This is SM 01-09-0812, as I’ve said, but what I didn’t say was that she’s all yours.”

“Mine?” Peter asked, eyes wide.

“She was going to be an A.I. for your suit,” Mr. Stark explained, “but then I didn’t want to pressure you back into Spider-Manning, so I figured we could put her in a phone for you, or if I could convince May – in your apartment.”

“I don’t think May would go for that,” Peter admitted, “but Mr. Stark this… this is…”

“Kid, you don’t have to say anything.”

“No, but I do,” Peter said quickly, “this is more than I could have ever expected, thank you so much.”

“You know SM 01-09-0812 is a bit of a mouthful,” Mr. Stark prompted, “maybe you could start by giving her a better name?”

“Karen.”

“You don’t want to think about that?” Mr. Stark asked.

“What’s wrong with Karen?” Peter asked.

“Nothing, nothing,” Mr. Stark mumbled, “as long as you’re not the manager.”

“Karen was Plankton’s computer wife in SpongeBob,” Peter said, “although I’m only now wondering how she worked underwater.”

“Kid, the crab had a whale daughter and there was an astronaut squirrel,” Mr. Stark commented, “why is the computer the thing you’re questioning?”

“Not sure,” Peter admitted, “hey, uh, SM 01-09-0812? How do you feel about the name Karen?”

_“You can call me Karen, if you’d like.”_ Karen replied.

“Sweet,” Peter mumbled, “so Karen, what can you do?”

_“I am fully equipped to scan all the databases available to Stark Industries, I can connect instantly to any emergency service you may require, and to F.R.I.D.A.Y., in addition I can push emergency calls through to Tony Stark in the even that you need his assistance,”_ Karen explained, _“furthermore, I am able to research anything you may need within a moment’s notice and if you are in a stressful situation I can talk you through some breathing exercises or alert a trusted person to your location so they can assist you. I keep track of all of your vitals and call for help if any danger is noted.”_

“Wow,” Peter mumbled, Mr. Stark really had thought of everything hadn’t he? “Mr. Stark, this is…”

“Too far?” Mr. Stark guessed.

“No, this is more than I could have dreamed of,” Peter corrected him, “you really made her for me?”

“Of course I did.”

“If I-” Peter paused, considering whether he was ready to say what he wanted to, “if I wanted her in my suit, could we do that?”

“I think that would be a great idea,” Mr. Stark admitted after a pause where he searched Peter’s face for something.

Peter couldn’t help but smile at the older man, before he returned his gaze to the A.I. before them. It was a soft blue, almost white colour – easy for Peter to have almost mistaken for the moon, except he had forgotten something important.

Mr. Stark loved to give gifts; he was always finding little ways to show his appreciation to those around him. From a bouquet of flowers the colour of Pepper’s hair to an evening with May teaching her how to cook properly – something that Peter considered more of a gift for himself rather than May, after all, he was the one who had spent fifteen years dodging food poisoning.

Still, despite Mr. Stark’s constant need to show his love, he wouldn’t get anything overly extravagant for the people he knew.

The flashy gifts that were more money than meaning were for strangers, gifts like Karen, something that took more time than money; those were the gifts that truly mattered. That was why Peter should never have assumed he was staring at anything other than Mr. Stark’s genuine love and respect.

“You don’t have to have her in the suit, you know that right?” Mr. Stark asked. “There’s no pressure on you to do that.”

“No, I know,” Peter said, “it’s just, I want to try being Spider-Man again.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely,” Peter said, realising just how true it was, “the past months have been really difficult, but… I had you and May to help me through, I wasn’t on my own.”

“Have,” Mr. Stark corrected.

“Have?”

“You have me and May,” Mr. Stark corrected, “even if you put that suit on and go back to swinging around the city like you don’t have a care in the world, even if you put on the suit and realise that you’re not quite ready yet, you’re not on your own.”

“I know,” Peter said, and he did, he really did, “but you guys helped me when I felt like all hope was lost. I always knew May would, she’s my Aunt, but you’re Tony Stark. You’re a real hero, the one who saves the world from the catastrophic threats, the one who everyone knows and loves. But when I needed you, you looked out for the little guy, for me.”

“Kid…”

“I need to go back to being that person,” Peter admitted, “I need to go back to looking out for the little guy, I’m never going to be an Avenger, Mr. Stark, because I’m not a hero. I’m just a friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.”

“Kiddo,” Mr. Stark said, walking through the orb so that he was standing in front of Peter, “Peter, you’ve so incredibly strong, stronger than Thor even, and I respect the hell out of you, but there’s one thing you got wrong there.”

“What was it?”

“You said you’re not a hero,” Mr. Stark said, “I don’t understand how you can think that.”

“When I was fighting Toomes, it was painful and chaotic and messy,” Peter admitted, “but it wasn’t until after that fight that I realised how weak I truly was. You know how people say that when you’re standing in the eye of a hurricane its completely calm?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, they’re right,” Peter said, “I felt like I was in the centre of a raging hurricane, but I felt calm with it, so long as I didn’t think about anything. It was just… not thinking is impossible, and the moment I let myself remember things, the winds would sweep me up and I wasn’t able to control anything once they did. It wasn’t a comforting calm, it was a tenuous one, guaranteed to break at any given moment.”

“Even the worst storms have to end,” Mr. Stark said gently.

“But what if there’s another just around the corner?” Peter asked.

“Then we deal with it.”

Peter nodded, “thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“What for?” He asked, as though he genuinely had no idea.

“Everything,” Peter said quietly, “you gave me my life back.”

“Kid, you took your life back yourself, I just watched.”

“Don’t be so modest,” Peter said, “you’ve done more for me than you know.”

“Alright then, how about I do one more thing?”

“What’s that?” Peter asked, cocking his head in confusion.

“How about I install Karen in your new suit?”

And for the first time since he had been slammed into the sand at Coney Island with claws carving their marks in his back, Peter grinned as the prospect of putting on the Spider-Man suit again. 

“And Kid?”

“Yeah?”

“You _were_ wrong,” Mr. Stark said, “out of every single hero I’ve ever met, you’re the best of them all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to go cry now, I can't believe this is it, it's all over. 
> 
> Please leave a final comment, and maybe a kudos, and I'll see you all again in future fics I hope! If you'd like, send me a message or ask on Tumblr @[ephemeralstark](https://ephemeralstark.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I made an MCU Creators discord! This is for all writers, readers, artists, gif&edit makers etc. It can be for Irondad and for ships although no st*rker or paedophilia/incest please!
> 
> All are welcome!!
> 
> [Click here to join ](https://discord.gg/RnGADEY):D

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought and come find me on tumblr @[ephemeralstark](https://ephemeralstark.tumblr.com/)


End file.
